


Sweet Disposition

by momo_official



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dirty Talk, Dom!Matt, Domme!Claire, Exhibitionism, F/M, Forced Orgasm, I AM A BEACON OF SIN, Mildly Dubious Consent, Praise Kink, Spanking, Sub!Claire, sub!Matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4076863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momo_official/pseuds/momo_official
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Claire got to work at 11 pm on Wednesday night, she found a fresh cup of steaming coffee sitting in the back, with her name (Claire Temple) in small, hesitant chicken scratch on its side.</p><p>Post-season 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. but i got detention in the morning

When Claire got to work at 11 pm on Wednesday night, she found a fresh cup of steaming coffee sitting in the back, with her name ( _Claire Temple_ ) in small, hesitant chicken scratch on its side.

            Keeara, her coworker, wouldn’t say who it was. “Didn’t get a good look at him,” she said, but the gleam in her eye and the way she bit her lip with excitement told Claire otherwise. It was a _boy_ and no matter how hard Claire smacked her arm, Keeara wasn’t letting slip any more information.

            When Claire lifted the lid and peered inside, she saw it was a cinnamon latte, with the perfect amount of whipped cream on top. The barista had done a heart around the whipped cream with the whole milk foam. She grinned. 

            Two nights later, when she got over for a 5 am shift, there was another cinnamon dolce latte with her name on it. The shift after that, it was a small teddy bear stress ball that she could squeeze whenever she had to keep her hands steady but couldn’t. And the shift after _that_ , her secret admirer started leaving flowers: white carnations.

            “Jesus,” Claire muttered as the next bouquet was double the size. She and Keeara had set aside a vase for the flowers, courtesy of Keeara’s grandmother, in the nurse’s station. The other nurses wouldn’t stop cooing at it.

            “He wanted me to give you this.” Keeara whipped out a yellow sticky note from her scrubs.

                        _Claire,_

_Hope these are OK. They should be white. Have a great shift. Squeeze the bear 4 me._

_-M._

* * *

 

           “I know what you’re doing,” Claire said to Matt while she disinfected a knife wound.

            Matt grinned around the pain. “What’re you talking about?”

            Claire rolled her eyes and reached for the suture thread. “You know what. Flowers? Really?”

            He snorted. She pressed her palm to his bicep. “Hold still. You’re going to mess me up.”

            “Maybe the secret admirer gave you something for that,” he said, the smug asshole. Claire paused in bringing the needle to his wound to hide her smile in his shoulder.

             “The bear’s cute. Where’d you get it?”

            “Foggy found it in his closet.” He hissed as the needle moved in and out of his skin. “Free swag from Landman and Zack. Asked if I wanted it." 

            “And _you_ don’t need a stress ball?”

            “I take my stress out other ways.” He was a ghost against her black couch. Old scars cut across his back, his arms, his face. Claire counted five he hasn’t let healed properly.

            “Like picking at your skin?”

            He froze. Claire busied herself with tying off the stitch. There was a pause.

            “I’d rather we not talk about it,” he mumbled.

            “Then let’s talk about where the hell you’re going for the night.” She leaned back and started packing away all of her supplies in what she’s dubbed “The Matt Box:” isopropyl alcohol, her stitching twine, needles in three different gauges, seven different types of bandages ranging from band-aids to heavy-duty gauze. “I wanna keep an eye on you. Make sure….”

            She glanced at his back again while he’s pulling on his black shirt. Claire let her eyes roam for a few moments, watched his muscles pull and shift under the scars. “You know. Make sure you’re okay.”

            “I’m always okay,” he said softly, “but I’m not one to turn down spending the night with a girl.”

            This was why Matt kept a few spare shirts and sweatpants at her home: for the nights when she couldn’t bear to send him back into the streets. She excused the behavior to herself as wanting to let the stitches heal a bit. It was still horribly domestic.

* * *

 

            Claire woke up to a throbbing between her legs.

            She turned her head to the door, strained her ears for the sound of movement, and got nothing but silence in return. He seemed to still be fast asleep on her couch, swaddled in the old blue afghan her mom made her.

            Her sleep had been full of thick fingers, of a soft voice murmuring praise. The dream Matt had run his hands across her body, dragging them roughly over her nipples; she turned her eyes to the ceiling and prayed she hadn’t cried out in her sleep watching the phantom work between her legs.

            Claire rubbed her thighs together and suppressed a moan. Her cheeks flushed hot at the thought of Matt waking up to the sound of her pleasuring herself, but not entirely with shame.

            She flipped over and straddled part of her covers, ducking a hand between her legs and slipping a finger inside herself. The Matt in her head hummed his pleasure: _You’re wet, Claire, you’re fucking wet for me. Let me take care of you._  

            Before she knew it, she was rutting against the covers, working in a second finger. She set her pace. Claire pressed her mouth into the pillow to keep from screaming; it felt like she’d been aroused for months with no release. Her dream ended before she could come, so she picked up where she left off, the imaginary Matt thrusting rough into her, the sound of his voice and the slap of skin filling her mind, crowding out any thought of the real man fast asleep in the next room. She allowed herself a few little whimpers into the fabric as her fingers curled and the phantom hit something inside of her that made her see stars.

            Claire wondered again what he’d do if he walked in on her, if he was awake while she fucked herself, and the thought was so delectable that she came to it, eyes screwed shut and mouth open.

            She fell on the bed, pliant and buzzing, and allowed herself a little murmur of satisfaction into the pillow. The dream Matt kissed her shoulder and disappeared.

            There was shifting in the other part of the apartment. Claire felt her heart stutter. What if Matt actually caught on to what she was doing? The thought didn’t seem so appealing anymore.

            She listened as the real Matt got up, padded across the living room to her bathroom, and shut the door. A few minutes later, the shower rattled to life.

            _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ What the hell was she thinking, getting herself off while he was in the next room?

            She groaned into the pillow. Two minutes later, her alarm went off.

* * *

 

            When Claire finally dragged herself out of bed, Matt was gone. He left nothing but a damp bathroom and a rumpled afghan in his wake. The designated Matt shelf was now down one shirt and one pair of pants.

            At the hospital there was an even bigger bouquet of white roses waiting for her, along with  _two_ newLandman and Zach stress bears. Attached to one bear’s chest, she found a sticky note:

 

_Thanx_

_-M._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Pussycat" by Slutever.


	2. been saving all my summers for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for dub-con/non-explicit consent and BDSM subject matter in this chapter.
> 
> Chapter title from "Froot" by Marina and the Diamonds.

            Claire had just hung up her keys and her coat when a hand wrapped around her neck. As she was pulled against a solid body, she barely had time to gasp before a second hand covered her mouth.

            “It’s me,” a voice murmured behind her, and it was Matt. She furrowed her brow and twists in his grip; he doesn’t budge. The hand on her neck applied no pressure.

            “What the fuck?” she snapped against his palm. It comes out as _mrrphmfFMFPH?_

“I know,” he replied simply, as if she was a victim he was interrogating and not the girl he’d been plying with flowers and teddy bears. “I wanna ask you something. Stop wiggling. Or keep wiggling. Whatever.”

            It’s then that she realized he was hard, he was pressing full-body against her and his erection was the thing poking her in the ass, not a gun or club or whatever the fuck he carried those days. Her mouth went dry; for a second, her thoughts were static.

            “What,” he said, enunciating each letter, “The fuck. Were you doing that morning? Huh?”

            He moved the hand over her mouth to grip her chin. Between the door and him, there was no space to breathe. Claire sputtered out, “What are you talking about?”

            Matt pressed her harder against the door and put his mouth to her ear. She gasped.

            “You were touching yourself in the other room. I heard your heart and I wanted to make sure you were alright. And then I smelled you. Smelled how turned on you were.”

            _Shit. Shit shit shit._ Claire forced herself to think past the beautiful feeling of being pinned. In the middle of her arousal that morning, she had completely forgotten what a freak he was, how he could hear heartbeats and smell things from floors away.

            He continued to growl in her ear, the hand on her neck tightening a fraction. Her eyes rolled back in her head. “Do you fucking realize what that did to me, Claire?” he said, and his voice broke on her name. “Yeah? You know how hard I got listening to you, smelling how wet you were and not being able to do anything about it? Almost went in there and finished you off. I had to jerk off to get the thought of you out of my head.”

            The shower.

            “And I didn’t even last a minute. I barely had to touch myself.”

            “Holy shit,” Claire choked out. “H-holy shit.”

            “I was thinking about fucking you. I was listening to you fingering yourself, imagining what it’d be like to be inside you.” He punctuated his words with a leisurely grind against her backside. Claire thunked her forehead against the door and pressed back blindly against his cock. “And I can smell how hot you are now just thinking about that. You’re pretty bad, Claire,” he added; she could hear the smile in his voice, and she smiled, too. “You like being a tease? You like fucking yourself with the guy you like next door?”

            “What makes you think-“ she sounded as wrecked as he did- “I was thinking about you?”

            Matt snarled and moved his hand down, rubbing her through her scrubs. Claire hissed.

            “I want you to say it,” he breathed in her ear, sounding furious and excited all at once. When she looked down, she saw his sleeves were black. He put on his old suit for this, for _her_. “I want you to admit you touch yourself thinking about me.”

            Claire huffed out a laugh. If he wanted to play rough, so be it. “Make me.”

            She expected him to hurt her, choke her, press her harder against the door. She expected him to fuck her until she couldn’t stand.

            Instead, Matt did the worst thing he could possibly do in that situation: he removed his hand from her and squeezed her hip instead.

            “Beg me,” he whispered.  “Ask me nicely.”

            She was pretty sure she was soaked through her panties, and he barely started with her. Claire gasped against the door.

            Matt snickered. “Not so fun now, is it?” He started rubbing his cock against her ass in a long, rolling rhythm. She wished that those jeans weren’t so tight, and, at the same time, that they weren’t there. “Don’t like it when you can’t get off anymore?”

            “Fuck you,” she spat.

            “Claire,” he sing-songed. “What’ll it be?”

            Claire ground back on him. He grunted and bit into the junction of her neck and her shoulder. She let out a sharp cry, thrusting weakly against the door, trying to get something, _anything_ , she wanted to turn around and rip him apart but he had her so locked down she couldn’t move, and that just made her hotter.

            “Matt,” she said finally. His hips stuttered as he waited for her response. “I want you to touch me.”

            “I _am_ touching you,” he replied, glee in his voice. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

            She gritted her teeth. “Fuck me with your fingers and make me scream so loud I wake up the neighbors, because that’s what I was dreaming about when I was fingering myself the other day.” Her voice was trembling with want. “Happy?”

            “Mmm.” He licked a hot stripe up her neck; when he spoke again, he was practically purring. “Good girl." 

            The endearment made her knees buckle, and that was all the warning she got before he delved his hand under her waistband and started rubbing her clit, hard. She rocks forward into his hand and back into his dick, grunting softly with him.

            Just as she was about to come, he slipped a finger in her and crooked it _just_ so, and as she shouted in pleasure she wondered how the fuck a blind guy got so deft with his hands.

            When she came down from from orgasm, she murmured, “The Braille.”

            “What?” His finger was still in her, pumping gently. They lay panting against the door, him on top of her.

            “That’s why you’re so damn good with those hands,” she said to the door.

            He nuzzled her hair, and then Matt Murdock honest-to-God _giggled_. “I try.”

            She grinned and pushed back on him to release herself, but stumbled instead. Matt pulled his hand from her pants and caught her.

            “Come on.” He led her to the couch, where he lay her down. She was so wonderfully exhausted that it took all her strength not to fall asleep then and there. When she looked up, she saw the black mask. Full costume. Was that roleplaying, what they just did?

            “You didn’t come yet,” is all she mumbled while he sat down at the end of the couch and leisurely licked his fingers clean of her. 

            “I, uh.” The lower half of Matt’s face turned beet red. He turned his face away from her.

            It took Claire a second. She furrowed her brows. “Seriously? Just from that?”

            “Never was a big hit with girlfriends. Once they found out.”

            “Found out which part?” 

            He took her shoes off and placed her foot on his thighs, where he began to massage it. Claire sighed and melted into the cushions; he was working away hours of stress and angry patients and stomach pumps just from a hand job and a foot massage. The bastard.

            “The, uh. ‘Comes-really-fast’ part. They weren’t a fan of that.” He smiled down at her, but there was a bit of sadness around the edges she didn’t have the will to parse at the moment. “The dirty talk was okay.”

            Matt went very still. “ _Was_ that okay?" 

            Claire waved a hand in the air. “I’m not complaining,” she slurred.

            He went back to massaging her feet, but there was a stiffness to his movements, and he didn’t speak again. As he worked, Claire closed her eyes and let herself breathe.

            “I couldn’t stop myself from finishing once I felt you come,” he finally murmured as she slipped into sleep.


	3. 'cause the world might do me in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A BIG warning for rape mention in this chapter. It does get a little graphic.
> 
> Sorry guys, no porn here! Just movin' the story along.
> 
> Chapter title from "Ghost" by Mystery Skulls.

A soft mouth pressed kisses across her back, slow and methodical.

            Claire stirred. She felt the familiar slide of her sheets against her skin, and sighed against the pillow. It looked like Matt moved her to her bed and undressed her after she passed out on the couch last night; she could smell his soap. He nuzzled her shoulderblades and let out an affectionate, “Mmmm.”

            “Good morning,” she drawled. His lips curved into a smile against her skin. 

            The next thing to hit her nose was the familiar smell of cinnamon. She lifted her head. On her bedside table was a paper bag, folded neatly at the top, and a steaming cup of coffee: a cinnamon latte.

            “It’s from the bodega down the street,” Matt explained against her spine. “Not sure if their bagels are any good or not, though.”

            “No, no, that’s…” The word _domestic_ sprung to her mind again. “Sweet. Thank you.”

            She flipped onto her back and stared up at him. Matt sat next to her, tracing a pattern across her bare chest. “You get anything for yourself?”

            Matt shrugged, and said nothing.

            “Matt, come on.” She grabbed his hand, making him jump. “When was the last time you ate? You’ve been here since…?” 

            “Midnight.”

             “You waited three hours for me to come home from work.”

            The corners of his mouth twitched, and he turned to the floor.

            “Jeeesus.” She let out a breathy laugh and made to let go of his hand, but in response he curled his fingers around hers, and who was she to say no to that? “You’re really into this. The flowers, the bears…”

            Matt’s face fell. Claire furrowed her brow and sat up. “What’s wrong?”

            “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured. There was a sad look in his eyes. “I went too far last night.”

            “What are you talking about? I was--"

            “I took advantage. Claire, I…this is not going to work out.”

            Her heart plummeted into her stomach. Hadn’t he just made love to her without any thought of getting off himself? Brought her breakfast in the morning, pretended like they were boyfriend and girlfriend and not…whatever they were? She took a deep, shaky breath, put on her Nurse Voice. “Okay. Okay. Why’s that?”

            His voice cracked when he spoke next: “I’m bad for you, you said it yourself.”

            “What the...when was that?”

            Matt sniffled.

            “When did I say that, Matt?” Her voice was soft.

            “I’m a dangerous person,” is all he managed. “I’m gonna ruin you. Someone’s gonna…find you again, because of me, and—“

            “Hey.” She reached out and rubbed his shoulder; he leaned into it like he was starving. “Last night was….it was weird, you know, because I wasn’t expecting that at all. But really good.” She laughed again, but it was weak this time. “I had fun. You had fun too, right?”

            Matt’s mouth drew into a thin line.

            “No?” 

            “I _loved_ it,” he choked out at the floor. “You’re really hot like that.”

            “And _you’re_ really hot when you’re all authoritative.”

            Matt buried his face in his hands and let out a noise.

            Claire gestured with her right hand, then remembered he couldn’t see it, and patted his shoulder instead. “Then let’s…see what this weird thing is. You’re in my apartment all the time,” she added, “To hell with it. Let’s explore it together so it’s not the elephant in the room.”

            Matt managed a small smile through his fingers at that. “The sexy elephant.”

            “Shhh.” She pressed a kiss to his ear.

            Claire reached for the bag, and saw two foil-wrapped bagels inside. She tossed one to him, and he caught it in one hand. “How do you know what I like, by the way? Did you just get something random?”

            Matt tilted his head back and forth as he unwrapped the bagel. “Eh. It’s…oh, this is yours, I think.”

            “What the fuck? How do you know?”

            “Your breath smells like veggie cream cheese and everything bagel, that’s how. And _this_ smells like plain. So it’s mine.” 

            Her mouth fell open, and she smacked him on the shoulder. “Asshole! I smell like that all the time?!”

            Matt cringed. “You have french onion soup on Wednesdays.”

            “Because that’s what’s in the caf. Holy shit, Matt.”

            “I know, I know. Weird.”

            The coffee has cooled a bit when Claire pressed the lid to her lips.

            “You _did_ get something for yourself, though.”

            Matt grinned at that as he bit into the bagel. “I waited a long time for you,” he said around a mouthful of food.

* * *

            When he left, Claire sat down on the couch in the living room and dragged her laptop towards her. What started as a quick Google search ( _kinky sex ideas_ , even _she_ wanted to die typing that into the browser) became her entire morning. With twenty tabs open and with an eye peeled for sites that looked less than savory, she clicked her way through the BDSM Wikipedia article, then a bunch of “submission for beginners” sites, even personal blogs with pictures of men and women showing off bondage and new toys. _That_ set her off looking at sex toy sites for another hour. If Matt was into being dominant, and she was into being submissive, maybe he’d be open to some of these things?

            Or maybe she was just making a tool of herself. She sat back and rubbed her eyes; the clock read 2:14 PM. She wasn’t working tonight, and there were still ten new tabs on her computer that she had been meaning to get through.

            She opened a Word document, put it side-by-side to her browser window, and started making a list of ideas, _just_ in case.

* * *

            Matt didn’t show up for the rest of the week, and he left no gifts at the hospital, but that didn’t mean he was keeping quiet. Claire browsed through new articles about the Daredevil every week in the day-old NYT’s kept in the back. _Daredevil Takes On Drug Lord_ : Tuesday.  _Another Man Claimed Daredevil Saved Him:_ Wednesdays, and this article she got a drop of french onion soup on. _Daredevil: Menace or Hero?:_ Thursday.

            On Friday morning, Keeara approached her with a pained look on her face. “This one’s serious, Claire,” she said in a low voice. “Sexual assault.”

            Claire ran her hand through her hair and exhaled shakily. “Just now?”

            “Yup.” Keeara pressed her palms to the countertop. Her arms trembled. “Looks like a lot of guys got to her, and I’m only saying that because there’s a bunch of dudes in the room next door on drips for the next few days. No solid food for a week.”

            She felt a spark of hope in her gut. “How do we know they’re connected?”

            Keeara smiled bitterly at the window facing out of the nurse’s station. “Because the girl won’t stop talking about a dude in a red suit. Think it’s Daredevil?”

            So Matt got to those guys, but he was a little too late. Claire sprung up from her chair, leaving it to roll across the floor and hit a filing cabinet. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

            “Grab her a sandwich while you’re at it,” Keeara shouted out of the nurse’s station. “She’s allergic to tomatoes!”

* * *

            The girl was a waifish thing, barely five foot and maybe one hundred pounds at best. Her long brown hair tumbled over one shoulder while she snoozed in the hospital bed. Claire would have thought she was fifteen if it wasn’t for the wedding ring on her finger. Her husband, looking paler than her, gripped her hand from where he sat at the edge of the bed.

            Claire hesitated in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” she said to him, and held up the sandwich. “I would have grabbed two.”

            “I’m not hungry,” he said, voice trembling around his Long Island accent. “Is she going to be okay?”

            “I, um.” Claire set the sandwich down within the girl’s reach and flipped open her file. There had been no need for surgery, but she had needed stitches and a _lot_ of morphine. She wanted to scream. “Yeah, I. I think so.”

            “That guy helped her,” the man said. He squeezed his wife’s hand harder. “The Daredevil. He called the ambulance. They found her,“ his voice rose in pitch, “passed out by a dumpster, and when I got the call, I…I…”

            “Shhh.” Claire rubbed the man’s shoulder as he burst into tears. “She’s going to be fine.”

            “I’m _glad_ he beat the shit out of those guys. I hope they’re fucking dead.”

            And, thanking Matt silently in her head, she found herself saying, “I wish they were dead, too.”

* * *

            The girl woke up as the sun was rising. As Claire predicted, she didn’t talk much, just chewed on the turkey and swiss sub in silence. Her husband slept in his chair.

            Claire sat down on the edge of the bed; she set aside the oatmeal she had brought for the husband. “Listen,” she said. “You can’t tell anyone this, okay?”

             The girl didn’t look up from the bedsheets.

            “I know who Daredevil is,” Claire continued.

            The girl stopped chewing.

            “I’ll tell him thanks for you, if you want." 

            The girl’s nails, covered in white polish, dug into the roll. After a beat, she nodded. A few tears rolled down her face, but she made no sound. She nodded again.

* * *

            On Saturday morning, there was a knock at her door. Matt stood there in his jeans with a handful of papers in hand. His cane hung from the crook of his elbow. 

            Claire let him in, grinning. “I was kind of hoping you’d bring coffee.”

            Matt hesitated before he dropped the papers on the side table by the couch. “Did you want me to?”

            “I was joking. You don’t have to.”

            Matt beamed at her. “Some gentleman caller I am.” 

            Claire curled up on the couch; Matt perched on the arm and took off his glasses.

            “Claire, I…” He reached for the papers; everything on them was in Braille. There must have been twenty pages. She raised an eyebrow. “I did some, um. Research, into the whole—“

            “I did too,” she blurted. She added, “I really hope we’re talking about the same thing here.”

            “Well, I’m not talking about a DIY project. But, y’know. It kind of is.”

            She pressed her hands to her face. “Don’t even make that joke." 

            Matt gave her a toothy smile as he ran his fingers down the page. “So I think I’d like you to—“ His hands stuttered. “Be a sub.”

            “I think I’d like you to be a dom.”

            “I made a list…”

            “So did I.”

            Matt perked up, and went to curl up on the couch cushion next to her. “Ah, okay. Says here I’m supposed to ask you what you like, and what you’re not into, then we go from there.”

            Claire booted up her laptop. “Just don’t draw blood. And,” she added, looking through the document when it popped up on the screen, “I’m not sure how I feel about you calling me ‘good girl.’ It’s kind of hot, but I also feel kind of like I’m your dog when you say that.”

* * *

            Together, they compiled a list of dozens of things they wanted to try. Despite his escapades on the street, Matt didn’t seem to have a violent streak in the bedroom, and Claire was thankful for that. For now, until she was more comfortable with "good girl," he called her "baby."Their safe word was "blue."

            When Matt set his papers aside, Claire swallowed. “So." 

            He tilted his head and folded his hands in his lap. “You sound shy.”

            “No, no, it’s not about the sub thing. I wanted to ask you about the girl in the hospital, from Friday.”

            Matt didn’t react.

            “She says thank you. You saved her life, Matt. She didn’t need surgery.”

            For a few minutes, Claire thought Matt had turned to stone. He wasn’t even shifting on the couch cushions.

            “Matt?”

            “They were fucks,” he spat. She jumped at the vitriol in his voice. “There was blood everywhere. Four really big guys. One of them got away and I’m still kicking myself. No,” he added, raising a hand, “no, I’m kicking myself because I should have killed them right then and there.”

            “Matt, you would have been arrested, too, and then your life would be over because you’d be in jail. It’s better that you just knocked them out.”

            Matt let out a shaky sigh. His hands were curled into white-knuckled fists on his thighs.

            “Look,” she continued, “if it makes you feel any better, they’re not going to be eating solid food for a while.”

            “Good. Claire, I…there was blood. Everywhere. The girl didn’t have _clothes_ anymore.”

            “Christ…” She sat back. A tense silence fell between them.

            Matt spoke first; his voice was high and thin. “If I ever…if you ever want to stop, I’ll stop. I’d _never…_ ”

            “Shhh.” She brushed her knuckles against his cheek. “You’re not anywhere even _close_ to that. Don’t go there.”

            Matt swallowed hard. His toes curled into the carpet.


	4. convicted criminals of thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If ya grandma is visiting you, DON'T READ THIS WITH HER AROUND.
> 
> Chapter title from "Sexxx Dreams" by Lady Gaga.

           Matt left her a box of chocolates at work with a small note: 

                        _My place. 2 A.M. Bring whatever u need._

_-M._

A separate note had a crudely drawn figure of Matt in his glasses and cane, smiling up at her. Next to it, someone had drawn an arrow and written “STUD” in neat cursive. Claire laughed so hard she cried; Esther smacked her on the back to get her to breathe properly.

            When she got out of her shift at 1 A.M., she headed home to grab a change of clothes and slip into a Duane Reade for condoms.

* * *

           Matt answered the door looking surprisingly normal. Claire hadn’t been sure what she’d expected, but his three-sizes-too-big Fogwell’s sweatshirt wasn’t it.

            When he heard the rustling of the Duane Reade bag, he perked up. “What’d you get?”

            “Condoms. I think we’ll need them.” 

            His smile turned shy. “Me too.”

           He padded towards the bedroom while she set her stuff on the couch. Claire made to follow him, but he stopped her.

            “I’m going to change,” he explained, shifting back and forth on his bare feet. “Did you bring the chocolate with you?”

            “Yeah, I left it in my bag.” 

            “Good. We’ll need it.”

            Claire felt a little thrill run through her.

            “Claire,” he said, more seriously this time, “are you sure you want to do this?” 

            “Yes,” she whispered. 

            He tipped his head up, shook himself a bit. “What’s the safe word?”

            “Blue.”

            “You remembered.”

            Claire let out a little _hmmm_ and flopped down on the couch. The cushions smelled like him: mint and a whiff of expensive cologne. “How could I forget?” 

            Matt ran his hand through his hair and grinned. “Come into the bedroom when I tell you. When you get in there, I’m ‘sir,’ nothing else. You don’t like what I’m telling you to do, you say the safe word. Yeah?”

            “Yes, sir,” Claire purred, just to see the full-body shiver Matt did in response.

* * *

            Several minutes passed before he called her name. 

            Before she opened the door, she took a deep breath, let it out. Took another one for good measure. Only then did she turn the knob.

            Matt stood in front of the foot of his bed in his black suit. Claire stifled a giggle as she closed the door.

            “What’s so funny?” he asked the wall.

            “Just….” Claire gestured to his entire body. “You’re in a mask for this?”

            He shrugged. “Gets me into character.” Before she could retort, he said, “Kneel in front of me.”

            The timbre of his voice made her fall to her knees immediately. He took a few steps forward to meet her, his hips at her eye level. For a moment, Claire’s heart raced, but all he did was press her cheek to his thigh and card his fingers through her hair.

            They stayed that way for what felt like hours. She felt herself relaxing with each gentle scratch against her scalp, with each lock of hair he twisted around his finger and then released. The sounds of the city felt muted and gray; the streetlights painted the room yellow.

            When she was about to drift off, he spoke up again. “You’re a pretty girl, Claire.”

             Claire exhaled shakily. “Thank you, sir.”

            “Where are you right now?”

            “You keep playing with my hair and I’m gonna pass out, sir.”

            Matt hummed with satisfaction. “I know you like that, but that’s not what we’re here for. If you’re good, I’ll do it later. Stand up.”

            She did.

            “Take your clothes off. Slowly,” he added, holding up a hand. “I want to hear each and every thing hit the floor.”

            “Everything, sir?” When had her voice gotten so small and shaky?

            “Mmm.”

            Claire took her sweet time; surely he heard every pull of fabric against her skin as she stripped down. Her thick gray sweater went first. A  _click,_ and her bra joined it. As she was working her jeans down her legs, he started talking:

            “Your heart’s racing. I know you’re excited.” His voice was rough. “Are you wet, baby?”

            Claire’s knees almost buckled. “Jesus, _yes_ , sir." 

            Matt smirked and tutted. “You’re just taking off your clothes, Claire. I haven’t even gotten my hands on you yet.”

            Her panties came off last-- the silk panties she was so sure he’d love to touch, oh well, there was always a next time, _there was going to be a next time_ \-- and Matt jerked his head towards the bed when she finished.

            “I want you to lie on your back. Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do." 

            While she settled herself on the bed, she gave Matt an up-and-down. He was already sporting an impressive bulge in his jeans, and she rubbed her thighs together.

            “Open your legs.” When she spread her thighs, he let out a small groan. “You weren’t lying when you said you were wet. Is that for me, Claire?”

            “Yes, sir,” she breathed. “All for you.”

            “Only for me,” he murmured, as if to himself. “I want you to start touching yourself. Do what feels good, but don’t come. If you do, I’ll know.”

            She didn’t need to be told twice. Her hand shot towards her clit, and she bit back a moan.

            “No,” Matt said quietly, “let me hear.”

            “Fuck, Matt-“

            “What was that?”

            “ _Sir_ , I’m sorry, sir.”

            “Forgiven. You’ll get used to it, baby.”

            He continued, “Think about me coming into your apartment at night. You’ve just got off the graveyard shift. You’re _tired_ , Claire. You feel like you can just…” He pursed his lips, shook his head. “Drift off. You feel me climb onto the bed.”

            Claire shifted against the covers, fingers working slowly around her sex.

            “Feel my mouth kissing your ankles,” Matt said. His palm drifted towards the crotch of his jeans, and he cupped himself. Claire groaned again, and he smiled, teeth flashing in the streetlights. “And going up, and up, and up…you’ve wanted this all night, haven’t you, baby?”

            She gasped. “Yes, sir, I’ve been waiting for you.”

            “And you’ve been so good, so ready. I want to lick your cunt, Claire,” he growled. His hand started rubbing his dick through the cloth. “I want to taste how eager you are.”

            She dipped two fingers into herself; they slid in easily. She felt like she was drowning. “Yeah, sir?”

            “You love showing off for me, baby? Is this what you were dreaming of?”

            “God, _yes_ , sir.”

            “I bet you taste like heaven, Claire. So sweet. Imagine me licking your clit, sucking on you, taking you all in. 

            She let out an undignified squeak at that. Her second hand kept her clit occupied while she worked her fingers in and out.

            “Imagine me fucking you on my tongue, eating your pussy out nice and slow. You think about this at work, don’t you, baby? Get off to the thought of me pulling you apart with my mouth. You wish I’d do it to you under the desk. Such a bad girl.”

            “ _Sir-“_

“You’re not allowed to come yet, Claire.”

            How the fuck did he know? She grit her teeth and arched her hips. “I’m so close, sir.”

            “Then play with your tits for me.”

            She cupped her breasts, shaking from head to foot. It was only then that she became aware of her heart beating a quick tattoo against her ribs. _Oh._

            Matt’s breathing had become fast and harsh. “Think about me sliding my cock into you. _Fuck_ , I can’t stop thinking about how tight you’re gonna be." 

            “Then why don’t you fuck me, sir?” she ground out.

            “I’m sorry,” he said, still working himself over his jeans, “but who’s in charge? I think I forgot.”

            She tweaked her nipples, moaned again. “You, sir.”

            “You wanna fuck me, Claire?”

            “ _Yes_ , sir! Jesus!”

            “Then shut up.”

            She growled, but did as she was told.

            “Aw,” Matt cooed. “Are you pouting?”

            “I wish you could see it, sir.”

            “Too fucking bad. I can’t see, so I don’t care." 

            Claire rolled her eyes at his shit-eating grin.

            He shrugged. “But you’ve been patient, and I’m feeling generous.” He pressed his palms against the comforter. “I also don't feel like waiting. You want me to lick your pussy, baby?”

            “ _Fuck_ -" 

            And that’s all she got out before he was on her, mouth latched to her clit, sucking like his life depended on it. It only took a few flicks of his tongue before she came, swearing and riding his face, sweat rolling down her face. He rode out the aftershocks with her, slipping his fingers inside her cunt while she came down.

            Matt leaned back and sucked on his fingers, pulling them between his lips and swirling his tongue around her wetness. Claire panted, pressed flat against the bed, only able to watch numbly as he cleaned his fingers off.

            “Beautiful, baby,” he whispered. She shivered. “What do you say?”

            “Thank you, sir.”

            “Want more?”

            She panted up at the ceiling, thought about it. Claire didn’t spend money on that box of condoms to have them go to waste." 

            “You didn’t come yet? Sir?”

            “No,” he said. “Why?”

            “Because I want your dick in me, sir.”

            He threw back his head and barked out a laugh. “Yeah? What’s the magic word?”

            “Please?”

            Matt patted her thigh and walked out of the room; there was rustling in the kitchen. When he returned, he was naked from the waist down and busying himself with unwrapping a condom.

            He made to align himself, but let out a little, “Hm.”

            “Sir? What’s up?”

            “I think I’m lined up,” he murmured. “Why don’t you put me in, baby?”

            She did.

            “Count to ten, Claire.”

            As she counted, Matt pushed gently into her, pausing every so often to focus on her before continuing. Droplets of sweat rolled down from under the mask, condensing on his chin to drop on her breasts. With a roll of her hips on eight and nine, Claire got him situated, and by ten, he bottomed out with a gasp.

            “Fuck,” he rasped, “ _fuck_ ,” and then he was coming in hot pulses, hips thrusting in tiny increments. Claire let out a snarl and rolled her hips again, grabbing his ass. He let out a little grunt as her nails dug in. His arms were trembling.

            “Thank you, sir,” she said before he could get a word in edgewise.

            “You like that?” he asked, a playful smile on his face, though his voice was tentative and small. _They weren’t a fan of that._

“I like watching you come,” she said gently. “You’re amazing.”

            He didn’t notice that she had left _sir_ off the end. “I can go again, Claire. You still want me?”

            “All of you.”

            He slid out of her briefly to dispose of the condom and go for a new one. When he came back, his smile was all teeth. “Beg for me, baby.”

            Claire’s breath hitched. When she spoke, it came out in one long breath: “Please, sir, fuck me, I want your cock so bad, come on, please. Sir.”

            That was all Matt needed to get back into the scene. “You’re pretty when you beg. Do it more.”

            He pinned her to the bed and set up a slow, punishing pace, hitting her hard but taking his time sliding in and out of her. Claire threw her head back, murmuring _thank yous_ and _sirs_ and _please, you’re so big, I’ve wanted this, please,_ and he suckled at her pulse point, letting out little groans when her voice caught on a thrust.

            “Claire,” Matt gasped, “Claire,” over and over like a prayer, hips stuttering as he came again. She tumbled over soon after.

            There was a pleasant silence while Matt went to throw out the second condom. Claire stretched and groaned with satisfaction. 

            “I think I’m done,” she mumbled, voice dreamy. 

            “Same here.” Matt hovered by the window like he didn’t know what to do with himself. The weight of what they had done hung in the air.

            Claire rolled off the bed and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll go shower. Come with me?" 

* * *

            He spent the shower massaging her back and dotting kisses across her neck, against her shoulders, on the sensitive spots behind her ears. Claire reached back and tangled her fingers in his hair when his hands went to her breasts, cupping and rubbing gently.

            After, Matt laid her against the bed and retrieved the chocolates from the kitchen. “I’m really glad you brought these.” All of the authority was gone from his voice. He was just Matt again, and she was just Claire.

            “Why?” she drawled. “Those are mine.”

            “But _I_ bought them.”

            “And _you_ gave them to me.”

            He held a truffle to her lips; she pulled it off his fingers with her lips. Raspberry hit her tongue, and she moaned, holding her hand to her mouth.

            The second she swallowed, he leaned forward and kissed her deeply, licking up the remains of the raspberry from her mouth. When he pulled away, she bumped noses with him. “Thief,” she said.

            “Just borrowing! 

            “Bull- _shit!_ ” There was no real malice in her voice. Matt curled up next to her on the bed and ushered her close.

            He fed her chocolate and took languid kisses from her until she was stuffed. Claire really did feel close to dropping off, and when he set the chocolates aside and started stroking her hair again, she smiled and nuzzled his chest in thanks. 

            “Good?” he asked, but something in his voice made her pause. It was the same tone he had used after he came too quickly, after he had first ambushed her in her apartment what felt like ages ago. Claire looked up, but he was facing the ceiling, avoiding her gaze though he couldn’t see her.

            Claire nodded slowly. “Really good. You kiss other girls with that mouth?”

            Matt hummed. “Only you.”


	5. steal my bed and steal my heart

“Claire!” Keeara poked her head into the nurse’s station. Claire looked up from the health records she was desperately trying to organize. “Your guy is here!”

            Claire swiveled in her chair to face her. “Seriously?”

            “Yeah! He’s got a ton of roses for you.” She winked. “They're so heavy I think he’s having some trouble walking.”

             The speed at which she jumped up and ran out of the room made Keeara double over laughing, but Claire didn’t care. She walked as fast as she could towards the reception area, nudging past doctors and past Esther folding gowns. Matt had been gone when she woke up, but had left fresh bagels as a silent apology; did he really think he had to keep making it up to her?

            She rounded the corner. Keeara caught up to her, panting.

             “Keeara,” she said slowly. “That’s not him.”

            In the center of the reception area, with a bouquet of white roses under one arm, stood Foggy, texting furiously on his iPhone. At the sound of her voice, he looked up and grinned. “What’s good, burner phone?”

            “What. The _fuck_." 

            “Hey, hey! Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Foggy lifted his hands and pouted.

            Keeara looked from Claire to Foggy and back. The look on her face said Christmas morning. “How many boys do you have on speed dial, _burner phone_?”

            Claire huffed and gestured to Foggy. “Keeara, there’s only one guy, and this is his friend!”

            Foggy rolled his eyes. “Nice to see you, too.” He held out the bouquet; it was bigger than the last one. Now that Claire could see it head-on, she saw a lone red rose embedded amongst all the white roses.

            Keeara nudged Claire while she took it. “Another bouquet for the vase!”

            Foggy grinned. “Yeah, seriously. Matt really loves sending flowers, for some reason. I think this is the biggest bouquet yet. He's spending all his damn money on you.”

            “Matt sends you over here?” Claire murmured. She rubbed the petals of the red rose between two fingers. “Isn’t that…?”

            “Horribly out of my way?” Foggy snorted, shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, you bet.” His voice softened. “But he’s my buddy. And he may or may not have been bribing me with alcohol to make the trip over for you.”

            “So Matt’s not really an artist,” Claire said flatly. “That little van Gogh was you.”

            Foggy threw his head back and howled with laughter. Claire scrubbed her hand over her face, grinning.

            “Burner phone! You can’t tell him I did that. Not ever. Pinky promise me.”

            “Only if you stop calling me ‘burner phone!’”

            “Done.” 

            Keeara got called away for one of her patients, and reluctantly left them alone. An amiable silence descended upon Claire and Foggy.

            “So,” Claire said. “Matt can’t be bothered to make the trip himself?”

            Foggy looked down at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, he gets weird around hospitals. I don’t know how to describe it. Like he’s scared or something.”

            “Kind of ironic, considering he’s dating a nurse.”

            Foggy chuckled. “Look, I don’t know what you’re doing to him, but whatever it is, it’s _great_. He was _whistling_ in the office today.” He spread out his arms. “Whistling! Matt Murdock! Never! Whistles!”

            Claire stared at the roses with a grin on her face. There was a pink ribbon around the stems.

            “Listen,” Foggy said, “just keep it up. Okay?”

* * *

            When she got back into her apartment, Matt was already there. He mouthed at the back of her neck while she locked the door, fingers pressed into her hips and dragging her to him.

            “I have something for you,” he whispered. “Actually, a lot of things.”

            Claire turned to face him, cupped his cheek, slid her fingers just slightly under the black mask to feel more of his skin. “Yeah? Like you already haven’t spoiled me rotten.”

            Matt leaned into her touch. “You forgot a word at the end of that sentence, baby.”

            “Sir.”

            He beamed. “Exactly.”

            Matt turned on his heel and went to fetch a huge cardboard box off of the couch. It had already been opened and taped back together with care. Her address was printed on what remained of the label; the monster of a package must have gotten here while she was at work. Claire narrowed her eyes while she tossed her bag on the floor. “There had better not be three hundred dollars worth of things in there.”

            “Nnnnope.” Matt popped the p on _nope_. “Just two hundred dollars worth of stuff.”

            Claire groaned. “Matt…”

            “Shhh.” He pushed the box into her arms. “It’s for both of us.”

            “Still not great.”

            Matt’s face fell. Claire tapped him on the nose. “You know,” she continued, “you really don’t have to, that's what I mean.”

            “I want to,” he said softly.

             “Just don’t spend all your money on little old me.”

            The corner of his mouth twitched.

            She used her kitchen scissors to slice the tape on the couch. After removing the packing peanuts and seeing the box's contents, she gasped.

            Nestled on top of everything was a roll of pink rope, soft under her fingers. Underneath was a smooth, violet rabbit dildo in a clear bag, along with a silver bullet and a small blue plug, Whoever packed the box back at the company had thrown several packs of batteries at the bottom. Silk scarves were there, but not mentioned on the gift receipt; Matt must have carefully folded them and tucked them in.

            While she gaped at the contents, Matt tiptoed up to her and brushed the shaved part of her head with his fingertips. “Just some stuff we can try out.”

            “Matt,” she breathed. “Holy shit.”

            He jerked his hand away. “I-I’m sorry, Claire. I just thought—I’m so _stupid._  Sorry.”

            “No, no, you don’t understand. I think you just singlehandedly fulfilled every sexual fantasy I’ve had since I was fifteen.”

            He fell silent behind her. Claire turned.

            Matt was hiding his face in his hands, grinning through his fingers. 

            “Hey.” She stood and slid her arms around his waist. “Just don’t tell me Foggy ordered this stuff for you.”

            “ _No_ ,” Matt said, so forceful that she giggled and buried her face in his neck. His arms wrapped tightly around her. “You know I can use the Internet, right?”

            “I sure do. I was just kidding.”

            They stood in silence in Claire’s apartment, breathing each other in, listening to each other’s heartbeats. Matt nuzzled her earlobe and bit it gently; she tensed up.

            “Why don’t you pick out what you want me to use on you tonight?” he murmured.

            “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” She peeled herself away from him and made a loud show of rooting through the box, weighing each item in her hand. Everything looked good, but she would probably explode if he used all of the items on her at once. Finally, she brought the dildo and the rope to him and set them in his waiting hands. 

              He felt along both of them, and when he realized what they were, he let out a satisfied _hmm_. “Strip and make yourself comfortable on the bed, baby.

            She kissed him on his jawline. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

            When Matt finally crept into the bedroom, he held the toys in one hand and a few condoms in the other.

            “You know,” he said as he set the rope and dildo down by the edge of the bed and the condoms on her nightstand, “I’m kind of glad you got these. It’s awkward having to ask for…” He cleared his throat and made a pumping motion with his hand.

            Claire snickered. “Seriously? That’s what you do to get condoms?”

            “Don’t laugh. Life is very hard.”

            “And then we die. Look, can you fuck me already?”

            He grinned and crossed his arms. “What’s the safe word?”

            “Blue. Blue blue blue.”

            He flashed her a thumbs up. “Very nice. Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to tie your wrists to the headboard. If you try to close your legs, I’m tying your ankles, too. There will be consequences if you don’t listen. I’m trusting you’ll be good for me, baby.”

            “Always, sir.”

            “I’m disinclined to believe that.”

            She pouted. “Don’t you trust me?”

            “I _just_ said I trusted you to do what I say. Mostly because it won’t be fun if you don’t.” His smile became toothy. “For you, anyway. Hands over your head.”

            Claire did as she was told, smirking at him. He straddled her and began binding her wrists together to one of the bedposts. He took his time, putting what felt like thirty different knots at her wrists, tugging on the bonds every so often to make sure they held. When he was finished, he placed the end of the rope in her hand.

            “If you safe out, this is how you get the rope undone. Just pull on that, nice and hard.”

            “Understood.”

            He sat back on her lap. “Now, since last night I told _you_ what I think about when I jerk off, it’s your turn. Tell me,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper, “what gets you off.”           

            She took in a shuddering breath. “I think about you, sir.” 

            “Mmm, I know that.” He started kissing his way down her neck. “Be more specific, baby. I want to know everything.”

            Claire’s mouth went dry. “I think about...I think about you finding me on the street. I’m walking somewhere in a dress—“ Matt growled at that while he moved to her collarbone. “—and it’s late. But I’m safe, there’s no one around. It’s just us. And you’re following me, and I…I don’t know about it.”

            “Very good, Claire. What happens?”

            “And…and you shove me into an alley, and pin me against the wall…” He took her nipple into her mouth with a groan, and she stuttered her next words. “And you’re hard, you’ve been waiting for this for a while. You’re grinding up on me, and I can’t move, I can’t breathe, I can’t do anything but take it…”

            Matt licked up her belly and between her breasts. Claire shuddered, words tapering off into a moan.

            When she continued speaking, her voice trembled. Matt slid his mouth towards where she needed him most. “And you want to fuck me, right there, you don’t care who sees. You lift up my dress, and I guess in this scene I’m not wearing panties or anything.”

            “You’re taking the words right out of my mouth,” he breathed against her clit. “What happens next?”

            “And….a-and you’re…” _Fuck_ , why wouldn’t he just _move_? “You just kneel down and fuck me really hard with your mouth—“ 

            Right on cue, he took a slow mouthful of her. Claire shouted and ground down on his face as best she could. After a few seconds, Matt pulled away and gave her a light smack on the thigh.

            “I didn’t say you could stop talking, Claire.”

            “And…and _fuck_ , your mouth feels so fucking good. You’re fucking me with your tongue and it’s—“ Her voice took on a higher pitch when he went back to eating her out. “—it’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and I don’t _care_ who sees us, or if people hear me screaming. A-and you stand up again and just finger me until I come, and you’re talking dirty to me, _I love when you talk dirty_ , you just talk me into coming on your fingers.”

            “Mmm,” Matt hummed against her clit, and she let out a broken cry. 

            “And when I’m ready for you, you just fuck me without a condom on, right against the wall. I…you come in me a-a-and you’ve fucked me so hard that I won’t be able to walk straight. A…and while it’s…dripping out of me…”

            Matt increased his pace. Claire grit her teeth.

            “You…make me get down on the ground and you spank me. You spank me so hard Ican’tsitforaweek _fuck_ , _Matt_ …” 

            He pulled away and smacked her thigh again. “First warning. Two more and I’m punishing you.”

            “Yes, sir.” She sobbed. “Please, sir, please…”

            “I don’t believe you, baby,” he teased. “I think I should give you a little lesson so you don’t disobey me again.”

            Her heart beat faster, and she thrust her hips up; he easily pinned them down to the bed. “Like what, sir?”

             Matt reached for the dildo. “I’m going to use this. You’re not allowed to come, Claire, not until I tell you.”

            Claire bit her lip and whimpered. The dildo slid inside her easily, the head of the clit stimulator sitting neatly against her hood. With a flick of his fingers, Matt turned it on, and Claire Temple arched off the bed and screamed.

            “Sir!” 

            “No coming, Claire.” His voice was stern, and it just made her more desperate. While she writhed against the sheets, trying in vain to get away from the dildo, Matt loosened his pants and took his cock in hand.

            “This is what I mean, baby,” he sighed as he started to thrust into his hand. “You say you’ll be good, and then you don’t call me ‘sir’ like I ask. Promise not to do it again?”

            “Yes,” she hissed, “yes, please, sir, please, make it stop!” Her muscles were already fluttering around the toy; sweat dripped down her face. "It's too much!"

            “Now,” he growled, “you know how I feel when I see you,” and Claire went speechless at that. “What do we say?”

            She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from coming. “I’m sorry! Fuck! I’m sorry!”

            “I’m sorry, what?”

            “ _Sir!_ I’m sorry, sir!" 

            “ _Now_ you can come for me, baby.”

            Claire threw her head back and screamed again as she came. Matt pumped his hand lazily, listening with his head cocked to one side. When the aftershocks wore off, he made no move to switch the dildo off; it continued buzzing against her clit until she was completely oversensitized.

            “Come for me again,” and she did. A few minutes later: “Again,” and she did. Matt came himself at one point, spilling thick ropes across the sheets. She wore herself out shouting until she could only manage tiny whimpers; by then the individual orgasms had stopped, and a permanent wave of pleasure, so intense it was painful, took its place. When she went silent altogether, Matt switched the toy off and took it from her.

            “You’ve been such a good girl. Talk to me, baby." 

            Claire muttered unintelligibly in response, eyelids fluttering.

             “Claire, would you like to stop?”

            “Y-y-y…” 

            “Yes?”

            “Didn’t…” Claire jerked her head towards him. “Didn’t g-get to. Fuck me.”

            “Shhhhh.” Matt brushed her hair from her forehead. “How about next time? You’re very tired, Claire.”

            “Mmm.” She leaned back until her head _thunk_ ed against the headboard. Matt straddled her again to pull the end of rope for her; true to his word, it came spiraling out back into his hands. Without anything holding them up, her wrists fell to the bed.

            Matt planted a soft kiss on her forehead and brought the dildo out of the room. While she came down from her high, she heard him fussing in the bathroom, then in the kitchen, and when he returned, he had a wet rag in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He gently cleaned her up and took off his mask while she gulped down the water.

            “I’m proud of you, baby,” he said softly. She gave him a sleepy smile.

            “I like to think I’m tough, sir.”

            Matt dropped his head and kissed one thigh, then the other. “More than I realized.”

            When he finished and was satisfied she had drunk as much water as she could, he gently lifted her up and carried her to the couch. Once there, he lay down underneath her.

            She let out a happy sigh as he locked hands with her, tightly, as if clinging to her, as if afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Bitch" by Allie X.


	6. couples with hot drinks welcome us like we are one of them now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for racial slurs in this chapter.
> 
> Chapter title from "Funky at Heart" by Studio Killers.

Later that week, when he had her tied up again and they were rocking together languidly on his bed, Claire breathed, “Sir?”

            He paused inside her. “Mm?”

            “Can you untie me? Please?”

            He tilted his head; even with the black mask on, his concern was obvious. “Claire, do you want to stop?”

            “No, no. I just want to touch you.”

            Matt beamed. “Can’t say no to that.” He slid out of her briefly and reached up to tug on the end of the rope.

            Once they continued, Claire reached up and slid her fingers under the mask. His hips stuttered as she pushed it up over his eyes.

            “I just wanted to see your face right now,” she whispered.

            When his eyes opened, they were full of a gentle adoration, all for her.

            She kept staring at them until he turned from her to dump the condom in the trash afterwards.

* * *

Someone rapped on Matt’s door around 8 PM when she was alone (“There’s a robbery on 41 st,” Matt explained). Foggy was in the hallway in a T-shirt and jeans, balancing a glass container of the thickest casserole Claire had ever seen in one hand and clutching a six pack of Magic Hat in the other. At the sight of Claire in one of Matt’s sweatshirts and her pajama shorts, his eyebrows shot up. 

            “Well, _hello_. Sorry to intrude. Is Matt around?

            “He’s doing Daredevil stuff." 

            Foggy groaned and stomped his foot. “It’s _casserole night_. Sunday is _always_ casserole night. I can’t believe this.”

            Claire reached out to take the casserole from him. “Shit, I’m sorry. If I had known, I would have…”

            Foggy pressed a finger to her lips with his (now free) hand. “Shhh. Shh. Visitors are always welcome for casserole night.”

            “…told Matt not to leave.”

             “Oh.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I thought that, y’know, since you’re his girlfriend, you wouldn’t want him doing that stuff anymore.”

            It was Claire’s turn to raise her eyebrows. “Girlfriend?”

            He nudged past her into the apartment. “Well, if not _that_ , then what? Besides,” he added as they trudged to the kitchen table to set the food down, “he calls you that. ‘Claire, my _girlfriend_.’”

            Claire stood stock-still by the window, lips pressed together. “We’re both going to kill him, aren’t we.” But inside, she was singing.

            “Yup. But what might be a little less illegal is finishing the casserole before he comes back. Or just the beer.”

            “Agreed.”

* * *

                        While they picked through their slices of chicken casserole (and Claire had to admit it was the _best_ chicken casserole she had ever eaten in her life, and also it would be worth it to gain ten pounds from finishing the tray), Foggy pointed his fork at her, a stern expression on his face.

            “How much has Matt told you?”

            Claire shrugged and nudged at a stray noodle. “About what?”

            “Just about himself. Matt keeps quiet about everything but basic stuff, so it’s kind of a good Litmus test for how much he likes you.”

            “He must not like me very much, because I don’t know shit.”

            “What the fuck? He _loves_ you. I’m genuinely shocked.”

            “'Love'’s a strong word, dude." 

            Foggy ignored her and pressed on through a mouthful of casserole. “Like, the most I learned about Matt was when we were together—“

            Claire froze in the middle of tipping her beer back. “You were _together_?”

            “Aaaaaand he didn’t tell you that either. Stupid idiot.” Foggy leaned back and mussed his hair. “Yeah, it was just three months.”

            “What happened?”

            “Are you _sure_ you want to know?”

            Claire fixed him with a stern look while she chugged the rest of her beer. Foggy held up his hands. “Alright, alright, I get it.

            “Matt doesn’t like to share. I tried to introduce another girl into our relationship, this girl named Marci, and he got sullen. Said I was replacing him, when really, I just _really_ liked this girl and she was open to being with two guys and not just me. She thought Matt was adorable, too, but Matt resented her real bad. He became all moody and completely withdrew. His grades went down for a little while.”

            “That actually sounds a lot like him.”

            Foggy groaned. “It gets worse.” He paused to eat another mouthful of casserole and swig his beer. Claire reached for a second bottle. “See, I don’t know if you know this, but Matt, uh… _really_ likes getting hurt.”

            “Yeah, no shit.”

            “No, not just with the Daredevil stuff. He wanted me to just. Smack him. Tell him he was bad. But not just little smacks across the face or anything, he wanted me to actually beat him. At one point he asked me to draw blood and I drew the line. He was sobbing like crazy.”

            Claire let out a shaky exhale. “Holy shit. I didn’t think…”

            “Yeah, neither did I.” Foggy leaned forward. “He’s really skittish about anyone who treats him nice. A _lot_ of girls and guys have fucked with him because they think he’s all helpless and cute, but y’know, he’s pretty smart. But he let it happen, he _still_ lets it happen, and I don’t know why.”

            She played with the label on her second beer, stared at her blurry reflection in the glass. “Jesus. He’s always so scared when I suggest going out to dinner.”

            “Now you know.” Foggy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m not here to lay out all his dirty laundry or give you the mental image of us making out.” Claire laughed at that, and Foggy grinned briefly before becoming serious again. “I want you to know where I’m coming from when I say, take care of him. You’re probably the best thing that’s happened in a while.”

            “Girlfriend, though. I didn’t know I meant that much to him.”

            Foggy reached for the serving knife to cut himself another piece. They were steadily approaching halfway through, and when he offered her more, she shook her head.

            “Matt never gets to call someone that. He called me ‘boyfriend’ all the time, to anyone that would listen. I think he’s hoping that if he says it enough, it’ll be true forever, or something.”

            Claire sighed deeply and took another gulp. “But it’s…I’d love to be his girlfriend, and he never asked, so I assumed…”

            Foggy threw his hands up. “How the fuck is he treating you? Fucking you and giving you gifts like an absentee sugar daddy?”

            “Hey. I still earn more than you guys do.”

            Foggy smirked. “Not when we’ve got clients, burner phone.” He returned to Matt before she could retort: “He’s a big romantic, in case you haven’t guessed. He believes in love at first sight and all of that. _Huge_  heart.”

            Claire finished peeling the label off of the beer bottle. “Must have been his parents.”

            “No way. His dad raised him alone. His mom ditched when he became blind. She said it was way too much for her to handle.”

            _Became…?_ “Matt wasn’t born blind?”

            Foggy’s face crumpled with sympathy. “You didn’t know? He saved some old guy from a car accident when he was like, ten. Been blind ever since.”

            Claire’s mind raced. “Is that why he hates hospitals?”

            Foggy shrugged. “Beats me. They might be connected. Either that or he had a shitty experience another time. Matt finds himself in a lot of shitty experiences.”

            There was a rustle on the fire escape, and Matt poked his head in through the window. “Are you talking shit about me, Fogs?”

            Foggy pointed. “You! You missed casserole night, dickhead! What the fuck!”

            Matt smiled sheepishly and pulled himself into the room. “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

            Foggy darted over much faster than someone who had just eaten several pounds of casserole should and grabbed Matt while he was in the middle of working off the cowl. “Yeah? You’re not gonna ditch your best friend?” They wrestled; in the middle of the scuffle, Claire heard Matt laugh, high and sweet, so hard he started snorting. “You’re not gonna fuck with casserole night, you piece of shit? We ate _all_ of it and now you’re not getting any!”

            “You’ve been hitting on my girlfriend!” Matt squeaked.

            Foggy looked over Matt’s back at Claire with his mouth in a triumphant _o._ Claire couldn’t stop smiling. 

            “No offense, but she’s not my type,” Foggy said, and pulled Matt into a headlock. Matt let him, grinning.

* * *

After they saw Foggy out, Matt pulled her close and nuzzled into her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ditch you.”

            “Shhh, it’s fine. We had a great time. There’s leftover casserole for you.” Claire hesitated, hands playing with the hem of Matt’s shirt, then asked, “Girlfriend?”

            Matt froze. “Yeah, uh. Sorry. Do you not…?” She heard him swallow hard. “Not want that? I don’t mind--”

            “I’d _love_ that.” Claire reached down and squeezed Matt’s ass, making him jump. “ _Boyfriend_.”

            Matt held her tightly, let out a soft, relieved laugh. “Yeah. Girlfriend.”

            There was a pause. Claire spoke up: “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

            “We sure are.”

* * *

            A week later, Claire was trudging home from the subway, sore and exhausted from a horrifying double shift, when a van rumbled by. The driver screamed, “Fuckin’ spic!” at her.

            The occupants howled with laughter as they sped off. Claire turned and howled, “Fuck you!” and before she could think, hurled the rest of her iced coffee at the van. It splattered against the back windows.

            The van screeched to a halt. Claire froze. _Shit._

            That was the only thought she could get out before all of the occupants (seven _big_ white guys, why did she have to do that, why why why) tumbled out of the van. One of them snapped, “Stupid fuckin’ broad!”

            Claire stood there for a half-second longer, and then she turned and ran. They gave chase.

            She sprinted up the street, not thinking, missing her turn for her own apartment. Claire couldn’t go home now; she couldn’t let these guys know where she lived, couldn’t let them know that Matt – Daredevil- visited her there. The group's heavy steps pounded against the pavement; onlookers darted out of the way, keeping their heads down.

            Claire tried to scream, “Help!” but it only came out as a whisper.

            She led them to an alley; it only led to a dumpster at the end. Claire stumbled to it and fumbled around in her purse for her switchblade.  _Matt, please be here, please be here..._

            The driver led the pack, smirking. “You wanna fuck with us, bitch?”

            And got promptly kicked in the face, taking him down.

            Claire looked up. Matt was standing over the driver, breathing hard. The man cowered beneath him, face partially obscured by Matt’s boot.

            “Hey, man, no trouble, no trouble!”

            “You think it’s funny? Harassing a girl by herself?” Matt ground his foot into the man’s face, ignoring his cries of pain. “You bother her again, and I _end you_.”

            The other men all scrambled off without another word. When Matt released the driver and stepped away from him, he lingered, clutching his bloody face. Matt slammed his fist into the dumpster; Claire cringed. “Get the fuck out of here!”

            The man screamed and stumbled off.

            Matt exhaled and turned towards Claire. “Sorry about that. Are you okay?" 

            “Fuck, thank you.” Claire felt tears well up in her eyes. “It’s just…I could have…” She shuddered and took in a deep breath. The tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s been a long day, and…”

            “Shh.” Matt took her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. The gentleness of the action made her break down against him.

            “I could have—“

            “Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here, baby.”

            The term must have slipped out, but Claire curled up against him anyways, shivering and hiccuping; he folded her into his arms automatically.


	7. just one more thing: don't be too proud to beg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, kids!
> 
> Chapter title from dialogue from B.B. King playing live at the Cook County Jail.

Weeks slipped through her fingers, and Matt’s gifts didn’t stop, though they did become smaller.

            She woke up for work one morning to find a few pairs of panties arranged on her nightstand: silk, cotton, lace, all in black. Another morning, he left her breakfast and a little note with nothing but a heart on it.  Once she came home to find a different sticky note that, in twenty words, managed to make her flush and rush to her bedroom with an urgency she didn’t think possible after a double shift.

            Her apartment started to smell like him; his apartment, he said, started to smell like her. Matt learned, with great disappointment, that she had never owned a record player; the next day, he brought over an outrageously expensive model, just for her.

* * *

             _Hey!!! :-)_

_We REALLY love hearing you guys have LOUD SEX every nite of the week…….we make popcorn for it!!! Please BE AS LOUD AS POSSIBLE!!!!! It’s not like we need to sleep, or anything!_

_Love,_

_3B_

Matt’s ears were bright red as Claire read the note aloud to him. “They sound happy,” is all he said; she couldn’t tell if the twist of his mouth was from embarrassment or pride.

* * *

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yeah, just. It would be really, really hot, Matt. Do you want to?”

            Matt swallowed and balled up the bottom of his shirt in white-knuckled fists. “God, yeah,” he choked out. “I won’t hurt you?” 

            She brushed his hair out of his eyes. He leaned into her fingers, following her touch until her hand fell to her side. He looked towards it with a small frown as Claire continued. “No, no. I’ll tell you if it’s too much, believe me.”

* * *

            Claire took her time getting ready; she had scored two days off and had already signaled Matt that now was the best time for the scene they wanted to do. In the middle of getting dressed, her hands hesitated over her underwear drawer; after a minute of deliberation, they fell away. Let him be surprised; he was picking the time, anyway, might as well shock him back. 

            She tried not to spend all day thinking about it. When the sun hit her balcony, she sat with her bare legs hanging from her fire escape, reading a New York Times bestseller Keeara had tipped her off to. In the middle of the day, she took a leisurely walk to the nearest Rita’s for the biggest cup of frozen custard she could buy, and she made her way to Central Park to sit and eat it and watch the world go by. Her mother called; Claire resisted the urge to tell her about Matt, only because _I’m dating a man who may or may not be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen_ wasn’t something she wanted Ma to rag on her about.

            Claire stretched on the bench and crossed her legs, one over the other. Her sandal dangled on the edges of her toes. The sky was gold now, and the city was settling in for the night.  A little boy and girl crouched on the sidewalk to watch a trail of ants waltz around a Waffles and Dinges napkin. A couple of teenage boys whispered to each other behind the safety of a tree.

            Matt hadn’t spoken to her all day today, and yesterday, as per her request. She still hadn’t told him about her conversation with Foggy on casserole night, but with his freaky lie detector abilities, he probably knew something had gone down between them. When would be the right time to tell him?

Would there be a right time?

            She craned her neck back and watched the leaves rustle in the early evening breeze.

            A faint tapping began up the sidewalk; she looked up and saw Matt, still dolled up for work, moving through the park at a rapid pace. The two kids looked up from their ants as he strolled past them.

            “Are you lost, sir?” Claire called out, and a warm grin broke out on his face. When he passed, he gently _thwacked_ her ankle with his cane without breaking stride or saying a word.

* * *

 

            The text came at 9, when she was exiting the sushi place five blocks away from her apartment. A bag from Duane Reed swished from her arm as she stopped dead in the sidewalk.

            _Get back to your place. If I beat you to it, there will be consequences._

Claire stood still for a few seconds, slowly processing this as a heat grew between her legs. Another text came soon after:

            _Tick tock tick tock_

She grinned and took off. Her sundress curled around her legs as she sprinted, dodging past sleepy workers on their way home, past people smoking on their stoops, over trashbags lying in the way. Claire got the delicious feeling that she was being watched as she moved, and half-considered ducking into an alley and waiting for him to capture her. Was he following her in the shadows? The thought made her speed up.

            Claire barely got the key in her lock, her hands were trembling so hard. She took a deep breath and pushed her door open…

            …to a silent, empty apartment.

            She closed the door behind her and leaned against it with a sigh, kicking her sandals off. 

            “You were close.”

            Claire whipped around. Matt slunk out from the corner, a satisfied smile on the part of his face not covered in his mask.

            She backed away. The scene was on. “What do you want from me?”

            Matt shrugged, still advancing towards her. “Where do you want me to start?”

            The tone of his voice nearly made her knees buckle; she forced herself to stay up, tried to start a wide circle around him. “How did you get my number? Who are you?”

            He snatched her wrist. She gasped and squirmed. “Does it matter?" 

            “Fuck you,” she spat. Matt caught her other wrist while she struggled.

            “I’m going to make you sing, Claire,” he whispered. “That’s what I want.” 

            For the fun of it, she shoved back on him, but he held fast, even pushed back against her so hard her feet slid against the floor.

            Matt leaned in. “I _said_ there will be consequences for you being late. You’re going to play nice, or I’ll make sure the entire neighborhood hears you.”

            Claire bit back a moan. Matt’s chin tilted up.

            “You like that, Claire? Want everyone to hear you getting fucked?” 

            “No,” she snapped, but he smirked when he caught the trip of her voice on the lie. He still had her wrists in a vice grip, and her struggling had become halfhearted.

            “You’re bad, Claire. You like to show off. Bet your boyfriend likes that.”

            If the roughness of his voice was anything to go by, he certainly did. 

            “What are you going to do with me?” Claire said, voice trembling with want.

            Matt tugged on her wrists. “I think you know what. I’m going to sit now, and I want you lying stomach-down across my lap. You’ll be a good girl, won’t you?”

            Claire swallowed around the lump in her throat. It had taken him so long to warm to this idea, and now that it was finally happening, keeping character was becoming tough. She wanted to eat him alive. Matt grinned and let her go.

            He sauntered to the couch and settled in the middle, tugging a throw pillow next to him. When he beckoned her forward with one finger, Claire rushed over and settled across his legs with a snide, “You’re a bastard.”

            “I know,” he chirped. Before Claire could retort, she felt his warm hands pawing at her ass through her dress. Claire bit her lip and leaned back into his palm. 

            Just as he did, his hand swung through the air and connected with a loud _smack_ against the fabric. Claire squeaked and bucked.

            “She likes that,” Matt teased, and swung again, harder this time. Claire pressed her face into the pillow. “Normally,“ _smack_ , “I would be,” _smack_ , he was hard under her belly, “very mad,” _smack_ , that one _stung_ , Claire’s mouth fell open with bliss, “that you enjoy being punished.” He massaged away the sting; she sighed. Her head spun. “But you’re so pretty that I don’t mind.”

            _Smack_. Claire moaned into the fabric. 

            “Beg me.” 

            “No,” Claire hissed. He wrapped a hand around her throat, but didn’t squeeze.

            “You like to be spanked?” he cooed.

            Claire panted, her pulse beating wildfire against his fingers. He started palming her rear again, and she let out a choked noise. 

            Matt paused as he felt around. She felt him shuffle until his hand went under the dress and connected with bare skin instead of panties. “ _Claire_ ,” he breathed.

            She smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said innocently, and shifted against his erection.

            Matt let out a low growl and runched her dress up; seconds later, he brought his palm down against her bare skin. The smack reverberated around the room.

            “You really do love showing off, baby,” he said, still breathless. “You like showing off to strange men? Huh?” 

            “Yes,” she hissed. “ _Fuck_ , yes. Hit me harder.”

            Matt did.

            He landed three more blows before pausing again, massaging the bruised skin. Claire wanted to purr. At this point, she didn’t care if the neighbors heard. Let them hear her; they weren’t the ones getting laid.

            “I’m feeling generous, Claire,” Matt said suddenly. “Go get me the plug, the bullet, and the lube you bought.”

            Claire lifted herself up onto shaking knees. As she struggled to step down onto the floor, Matt’s arm shot out and steadied her. 

            He tapped twice on her wrist ( _do you want to keep going?_ ), tilted his head.

            Claire exhaled and tapped three times ( _yes_ ) on his knee. He settled back into the couch with a lazy grin.

            He had neatly arranged the toys on the bathroom sink. Claire took them and, when she got back to the living room, made as much noise and fuss as possible rummaging in the Duane Reade bag.

            “Claire,” Matt said, warning in his tone.

            Claire rolled her eyes. “Yes, _sir_.” Even when delivered with venom, the endearment made him groan.

            She deposited the bullet and plug into his waiting hands. He made her stand and watch as he inserted the bullet into the base of the plug and seal it. A flick of his wrist, and the toy started to buzz. Claire's breath hitched.

            He made a pleased hum and shut it off. “Lie down on my lap.”

            As she settled, he uncapped the lube and wet his fingers, the toy resting atop the small of her back. She struggled to see what he was doing, but his free hand gently turned her chin so she was facing forward.

            When his lube-soaked fingers began rubbing and teasing at her asshole, Claire whined.

            “Quiet,” he snapped, but that just made her buck against him, trying to rub against his leg. He continued teasing her, stretching her open in tiny increments around his finger before pulling back and massaging again, and Claire started whispering nonsense into the pillow, _please, fuck, my boyfriend will know, more, more, that feels so good, fuck, please—_

            “I’m going to ruin you for other men,” Matt said once he got his finger in to the knuckle, “You won’t be able to kiss anyone else without thinking of me,” and she knew it was true.

            He poured more lube onto his fingers and fit in a second. Claire was a mess, and he hadn’t even touched her properly. When he finally withdrew and lubed up the plug, she held her breath.

            “Count to ten.” 

            On every number, he pushed the plug in further, and her breath hitched on the last sound of each word: “O-ne, two-o, thr-ee, fo-our…” In and in, opening her up, until finally the flared base fit flush against her and Matt flipped the switch.

          She had to bite the pillow to keep from screaming and pissing off the neighbors further. He wrapped his free hand around her throat and smacked her ass with the toy still buzzing away inside her. “Say my name, baby.”

            “ _Sir!”_ she squeaked.

“No, Claire.” _Smack_. Claire let out a shout into the pillow. “My real name.” 

            “Matt,” she breathed. “Matt, Matt, _please—_ “

            _Smack_. “Good girl,” he breathed, and Claire moaned. “I want to feel you get off on my thigh. Go on. Show me.”

            Claire wiggled forward and began rubbing against his thigh while he resumed spanking her. The heat and friction of his jeans and her dress was too much, and her orgasm washed over her, voice reduced to a tiny, faint whine. Matt went still above her, observing her as she rocked her hips into him, riding out the rest of her high.

            When she went limp, he turned the toy off and gently slid it out of her. “I want to fuck you, Claire. Are you wet for me?”

            “Yes,” she breathed. She lay limp across his lap; he maneuvered her so he could get out from under her and gently laid her back on the couch.

            Matt let her loll around and recover while he went to the bathroom to wash his hands and the toy. Claire blinked at the wall, the endorphins still racing through her blood.

            He patted the back of her thigh. “Up. Sit in my lap.”

            When she turned, he wasn’t wearing the mask anymore.

            “Sir,” she whispered, “ _what—_ “ 

            “Just 'Matt' now,” he said softly. “I just want to do this as us.” His brow creased as he sat on the couch and worked his jeans off, condom lying on the cushion next to him. “Is that okay?”

            A warmth spread through her chest. The look on his face was gentle and open, perhaps even sad, and it made her want to hold him close. “It’s always okay,” she said softly. “Come on. Don’t be shy.”

            Claire straddled his lap after he put on the condom, and he pressed his face to her shoulder. Underneath the dress, he delved two fingers in, checking how relaxed she was before pushing in. They made love in silence on the couch, his fingers against her clit, her mouth pressed to his hair. Just before he came, Matt sucked and bit at her earlobe, pressing her against his chest. He brought her over the edge with him.

* * *

 

            “My dad loved the blues,” Matt said, chin resting against her shoulder as they listened to B.B. King flirt and joke with prisoners on the record Matt brought. He had wrapped her in a blanket after cleaning her up; he had only let go of her as much as was necessary.

            “Was this your dad’s?” Claire murmured. As the band started up again, her eyelids started to droop.

            “Uh-huh.” Matt pressed his nose to her neck. “I can bring more over, if you want.”

            “Make it like a habit.” She played with his hand in her lap. “We fuck and listen to records after. It can be like a couple thing.”

            “Yeah.” Claire felt him smile against her skin. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

She hesitated. “Hey, Matt?”

            “Yeah?”

            She took a deep breath. “Listen, uh. Would you ever want to switch roles? Like, I do the spanking? And you call me ‘ma’am’  or whatever?”

            Matt stiffened. “What did Foggy tell you?”

            “Nothing,” she said quickly, but he sighed with frustration. The record spun on in the silence.

            “I, um.” Matt cleared his throat. “I don’t. I don’t know. Don’t ask me again." 

            She turned and pressed the backs of her fingers to his cheek. “We don’t have to, I just thought---“

            “Claire, _please_ ,” and his eyes welled up with tears. Claire gasped.

            “No, no no no. Don’t. Matt, I didn’t mean—“

            “It’s wrong,” he choked out. For a moment, his forehead creased with anger, but it smoothed out. He bared his teeth. “It’s…it’s fucked up and ugly. Let’s leave it, Claire. I don’t want to put you through that.”

            “Okay,” Claire said softly, trying her best to wipe each tear away as it fell. Matt flinched. _He asked me to draw blood_. “I won’t. I’m so sorry, Matt. I didn’t know it would make you upset.”

            He sniffled and ducked his head. For a moment, he looked all of nine years old, lost and afraid. Claire cupped his cheek, and to her surprise he leaned into it like he was starving for it.

            Matt’s voice was small when he spoke up. “I don’t want to lose you.”

            “We’re in this together,” Claire said. Her thumb caught another stray tear. “You can’t get rid of me just yet.”

            She pressed her cheek to his shoulder as he breathed deeply.

"I'm going home," he mumbled. Claire nearly fell off the couch as he slid out from under her. 

"Matt!"

The door banged against her wall as he fled. The record spun on in the silence.


	8. but it keeps growing back like weeds

            Claire didn’t hear from Matt for a few days. At first, she let him have his space; the poor guy had left her apartment in tears. She shoved down any instinct she had to go and comfort him, to knock on his apartment door and wrap him up in her arms when he answered. She also desperately wanted to punch Foggy in the face for letting slip such a secret, but she also wanted to punch herself in the face for broaching the topic at a horrible time. Broaching the topic at all.

            After the second day, she started calling. _Hey, it’s me. I just wanted to check in with you, see if you were hanging in there. I really miss you._

She tripped on the “I miss you;” it almost became “I love you.”

_Me again. Matt, where are you? It’s gonna be fine, I promise. Just…call back._

After the third day, his phone started going straight to voicemail, so she called Foggy.

            “He hasn’t been here,” Foggy said quietly over the phone. She heard dishes clattering in the background. “He’s not picking up for you either?”

            “Foggy…” She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “I asked him about the sub thing. He didn’t take it so well.”

            He hesitated. “Shit, Claire, he wasn’t supposed to know. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s hiding.” Foggy’s voice breaks. “I shouldn’t have done that. Oh, God.”

            Claire resisted the urge to punch him for the time being.

            The hospital filled to bursting with injured criminals: split lips, concussions, broken limbs, broken ribs. A couple of comas. Claire took on double shifts. There was no sign of Matt in her apartment late at night, despite his activity, and an image flashed in her head of him trying to stitch himself up, dabbing iodine on himself in his apartment under the glow of the billboard. She wanted to be sick.

            At the end of the week, she was watching the sun set from her stoop when a shadow fell over her. It was the girl from the hospital, the rape survivor.

            Claire stands. “Hey, you’re looking better.”

            And indeed, she did: there was color to those cheeks, her hair was straightened and hanging past her chest. Down the street was her husband, watching her with a soft smile, hands in his pockets.

            “I feel better,” the girl replies, “kind of.”

            “You’re…Christine, right?”

            The girl rubbed her elbows. “Yeah. Good memory.” She looks up from the sidewalk with a tiny smile. “Keeara told me you went home, and I really really wanted to thank you in person for what you did.”

            Claire shuffled from foot to foot, grinning. “The least I could do.” She looked up. “All your injuries okay?” She dropped her voice. “How are you feeling?”

            Christine tucked her hair behind her ear and resumed staring at the sidewalk. “It’s really hard,” she admitted softly. Her husband continued to watch them closely; she gestured to him. “Jim and I, we…we’re still having a little trouble.”

            “It will heal,” Claire said gently. She wanted so badly to give the girl a comforting touch, to hug her or put her hand on her shoulder, but she held back. Christine looked so small and afraid on the sidewalk, healthy and smiling but still not far off from the dead-eyed survivor in a hospital bed.

            “Yeah? That’s what they tell me. Look, um,” she started, “I think I’m gonna prosecute, try and find out who did it and…yeah.”

            “That’s great!” Claire spread her hands. Christine smiled, still avoiding eye contact. “Look at you!”

            “The lawyers are great. I heard really good things about them, and I thought they might be really helpful, and they are.”

            She heard the tapping of a cane on the sidewalk too late. “I thought I heard you, Christine,” a bright voice said, and it was Matt, and he looked terrible.

            He looked disheveled: his hair fell into his eyes, his stubble was overgrown. There were bruises on his hands as he clutched his cane and smiled at Christine. To anyone else, he just looked tired, but Claire held her breath at the bags under his eyes.

            “Hi, Mr. Murdock,” Christine mumbled, shoving her hands in her pockets. Her smile grew.

            Matt shook his head. “Please, call me Matt.” He tilted his head towards Claire, but kept his attention on Christine. He’s _avoiding_ me, she thought as she looked from him to Christine, and the thought made her heart twist. “I’m sorry, was I…? Interrupting something?”

            _Could they be….?_ She tried to stamp out the thought. Christine had Jim, Matt had her. Hell, Matt had sulked when Foggy tried to increase their relationship from two to three. There was no way he was that much of a dick.

            Or was he? Mike certainly was. Both of them liked to keep secrets. Claire shakily sat back down on the porch.

            “Just catching up,” Claire said quietly. She forced a smile. “No big deal.”

* * *

           When Christine left, Matt inched closer, still facing towards Christine’s and Jim’s receding figures.

            “Foggy and I decided to help,” he murmured. “I wanted to see her get the justice she deserved.”

            Now Claire felt like a dick for assuming the worst.  Of _course_ Matt wasn’t sneaking around behind her back; of _course_ he was the girl's lawyer, still her little guardian angel while she worked through this. “You’re a good kid,” she managed. “Any suspects yet?”

            Matt pursed his lips and tilted his head back and forth. “We’re working on it. There’s a lineup. Christine’s taking her time.” He shrugged. “And I can’t help, you know. I know who did it, but...”

            “Understandable.”

            A heavy silence fell between them. Claire looked down and saw Matt holding white-knuckled to his cane. Everything about him was stiff, like an animal ready to bolt.

            “What brings you here, stranger?” She tried to put a joking lilt in her voice.

            The effect backfired. Matt winced and shook his head. Claire scratched the shaved part of her head, ran her fingers through her hair.

            Matt spoke first. “I, um. Wanted to talk. About.” 

            Was that a tremor in his hands? Claire took the last few steps off the stoop and reached for his suit sleeve. 

            Matt drew away with a grimace, still not facing her. Claire felt her guts twist. She heard his voice in her head, unbidden, laced with something smug she couldn’t place her finger on: _It’s not you, it’s me._ Or maybe he would yell at her: _What the fuck made you think that was any of your business?_ Perhaps he was just here to get his record back and leave her with radio silence again. Either way, this was going to end in tears.

            “Inside,” she said gently, around the knot in her throat. “Come on.”

* * *

            Matt paces her apartment, glasses still on (he wasn’t removing them like he normally was, now Claire  _knew_ something was up, besides the whole “not answer his phone for days” thing), cane resting against the couch.

            “Matt,” she pled, “What’s wrong? I kept calling you.”

            “I know,” he murmured. “Sorry." 

            She spread her hands from where she stood next to the front door. Her legs crossed one in front of the other. “What’s going on? One day we’re all over each other, and then…if this is about the other night,” she added, “I’m really sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have done a scene like that with you so soon.”

            “It’s not about that.” Matt lowered himself onto the couch, the same exact couch they had had sex on, and he suddenly looked like a foreigner there. “I shouldn’t have run out on you.”

            “That’s my fault,” Claire said softly. “I went too far.”

            He balled up the fabric on his suit pants, let it go. Balled it up, let it go. “I don’t want you to see me like that,” he said, voice tight.

            “Like what?”

            Matt didn’t respond. Balled the fabric up, let it go.

            “You don’t want me to see you when you’re subbing?” Her voice was quiet, gentle. Matt looked away. The silence fell again.

            Claire exhaled with relief and slumped. Matt looked up.

            “I thought you were dumping me,” she said. “Thank God.”

            He managed a sad smile. “You’re stuck with me. Sorry.”

            “Not ‘stuck.’ Never stuck.” She strode over to the couch and sat next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. Matt melted into the touch.

            “You’re not gonna like it,” and her shirt was getting damp, when she looked up he was crying softly into her chest. “It’s disgusting."

            “Says who?”

            “Says…says Foggy.”

            Claire froze. “No. He doesn’t…Matt. He never said that." 

            He hid his face in her chest, shuddering. The glasses dug into her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind when he was so vulnerable.

            “Matt. No. No, no, no.” She stroked his hair. “He was scared, Matt. He didn’t want to hurt you like you were asking him to. You know he only told me that because he wanted to see you happy? He said you were whistling at the office and everything, and that I should keep doing this with you if it made you so over-the-moon.”

            Matt shook his head, still not moving from his position. Claire scratched the back of his head the way she knew he liked. He made a strangled noise.

            She continued, “I’m not so sure I could hurt you like that, either. But I wouldn’t mind giving you a little something.” It was true: the thought of Matt being submissive for once, bent over and begging, tied up for her, would give her more than enough late-night thinking material. “It would be kind of hot. Really hot, actually. I like making you feel good. It'll be payback for all the stuff you do for me.” She shrugged. "Not like this is a transaction, but hey."

            He didn’t respond.

            “Hey.” She shifted so she could cradle him in her arms. It was amazing, the way he was curling up into a ball half his size so he could fit. “You just say the word, and we can do a scene or two. And if you like it, we can keep going. Sound fair?”

            He turned his head. His glasses had salt marks on them from the tears.

            “Would that make you happy?” he said.

            “Matt,” she laughed. “ _You_ make me happy.” She winced. “Sorry, that sounded kind of…”

            “Corny?” he offered with a smile.

            She ruffled his hair and growled playfully. “Watch it.”

            The next day at work, Foggy delivered a single red rose to her. 

            “He was pretty pissed. I really shouldn’t have done that.” Foggy exhaled and pulled out a box of Teuscher chocolates from his bag. “These are from me. The rose is from Matt, obviously. Sorry about fucking up, seriously."

            Claire nudged his foot with hers. “You're forgiven. Where did I get such nice boyfriends?”

            Foggy flushed and grinned. “I told you, burner phone, you’re not my type.”

* * *

            Matt didn’t take her up on the subbing offer for a while, and Claire let it fade from her mind. They spent days just cuddling and listening to records. He came over in the suit a few times at ungodly hours, and Claire teased him about “old times” while she stitched him up. The intensity of the injuries in the hospital went down, though Matt remained busy scooping up criminals and working on Christine’s case. Aside from a few flirty texts, they never got busy, let alone scened.

            At one point, Jim invited the two of them to dinner at his and Christine’s place with their roommates, and they all sat around drinking red wine. Foggy and Karen came along with a bottle of champagne partway through. Matt held Claire’s hand under the table and rubbed her calf with his foot, offering only a sly grin when she mock-glared at him from the corner of her eye.

            That night, he pinned her down in his bed and growled obscenities against her neck while they fucked for the first time in weeks. When they finished, he wouldn’t let her go, lazily kissing and sucking on her breasts while she drifted off to sleep, smiling.

* * *

            Then Matt came to her door with a stack of papers in Braille. 

            “I made a list of things I’d be interested in as a sub.” He shifted from foot to foot, gaze somewhere over her shoulder. “I know you can’t read that, but I’ll sit down with you and go over it. If that's still okay."

            Her heart felt full to bursting. “Matt,” she said gently, softly, “I’m so excited to try these with you.”

            He looked down at the floor, a shy smile working its way across his cheeks. She tugged on his hand.

            “Come on. Let’s start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Weeds" by Marina and the Diamonds.
> 
> Questions, comments, concerns? Want to be friends? [ultrons-blunt-roller.tumblr.com!](http://ultrons-blunt-roller.tumblr.com/)


	9. my eyeliner runs in constellations for you, dear

Matt had a nervous urgency to him as he paced around his apartment. Claire placed her purse (her “bag of tricks,” as she had been mentally referring to it) on his dining room table.

            “There’s a weighted blanket in this closet,” he said, brushing his fingertips over a huge wooden wardrobe. “I’d like that, afterwards. And…and you can use anything you want on me. Surprise me.” He shoved his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. “And—“

            “Matt,” she said gently, “it’s gonna be fine. You told me all this last night, remember?”

            “Yeah, but.” He toyed with the hem of his sweatshirt. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

            She strode across the room and cupped his face in her hands. He stiffened. 

            “Matt. Matty.”

            He made an odd, low sound at the nickname. Claire raised her eyebrows.

            “Matty?”

            “Please,” he choked out. “Please call me that.”

            She kissed his nose. “Okay, then. ‘Matty’ it is. What’s the safe word?”

            Matt’s voice was small. “Blue.”

            “I’m going to strip you down. When I’m done, get on your hands and knees on the towel.” Claire brushed his hair out of his face. He had a bashfulness about him as he turned his face to the floor and hunched his shoulders. She wanted so desperately to make this good for him, take away the fear, make him lose himself as he had made her lose herself. Gone was the prowling devil that brought her to her knees; this man was cowed and humbled without her having to do anything. 

            “Yes, ma’am.”

            “You don’t have to call me ‘ma’am.’ ‘Claire’ is also acceptable. I’d like you to say my name once in a while.”

            “Yes, Claire.”

            “Good boy.” She grinned when he relaxed and fought a smile at the endearment. 

            Claire took her time disrobing him, applying as many teasing touches as she could get in: cool fingertips skimming across his ribcage, nails scraping down his sides as he finished removing his shirt, thumbs pressing into the soft meat of his lower belly while she worked off his pants and boxers. By the time she knelt down and started removing his socks, he was half-hard and beginning to pant.

            “Go on.” She nudged him in the direction of the towel, and off he went. When his toes hit the edge of the fabric, he obediently got into position and hung his head. While he waited for her, she took her time stripping down to her silk panties, ones he had bought for her.

            “Why don’t you tell me what you’re in for, Matty?” Claire padded over to her purse.

            “Please hit me, Claire. Really…really hard, please.”

            “Yeah?” She set down a wooden spoon, a leather belt, a bottle of aloe vera. lube, the box of condoms; she made sure he could hear them hit the table. “Where?”

            “My…um.”

            “Use your words, Matty.”

            He made a choked noise. “My ass, please, Claire.”

            “Good boy. Where else?”

            “Back of the thighs, Claire. Please?”

            “That all?” She strode back to where he knelt, trembling.

            “I…my dick, too.” He licked his lips. “And m-my asshole. Please.”

            “There’s a good boy.” She groped at his ass with both hands and he keened, arching his back, eyelids fluttering shut. How the hell had she not done this sooner? 

            Claire brought her hand down with a hard _smack_. He cried out, and so they began. She increased the force in increments, listening as he rocked his hips and made little breathy grunts ( _ah, ah, ah_ ) with each hit. He started dripping precome onto the towel around where her hand started leaving red handprints on his skin.

            She made a pleased hum and went to fetch the spoon, leaving him a few minutes to recover. “You take this so well, Matty. Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

            Matt heard her returning, spread his legs, and bent further down until he was resting on his forearms, presenting himself unabashedly. Her mouth ran dry. “Because, Claire.” 

            “Why?” She snapped the spoon quick against the soft underside of his thigh, and he squeaked.

            “Because I’m scared.”

            “Why?” _Smack_ , this time on one of the handprints. He opened his mouth and let out a shaky, wordless gasp." 

            “Of w-what you’ll think. Claire.”

            _Smack_. “Good boy. You scared I won’t like it?” _Smack, smack, smack_ , varying the hits across his ass and thighs so he wouldn’t know where to expect her.

            “Y-y-yes—“ 

            _Smack._ “I think you’re gorgeous right now, Matty.” He moaned. When Claire paused, he wiggled his ass subconsciously, a silent plea for more, and she obliged. Little round bruises were beginning to bloom across his skin as the hand prints faded. “I could do this all day. I’m getting wet just looking at you.”

            “I know, Claire,” he breathed.

            “Does that make you hot?” She cracked the spoon particularly hard, and Matt grunted with approval.

            “ _Yes_ ,” he hissed. Matt turned his head, and she watched the blissed-out expression on his face, lips parted with pleasure. His cock hung heavy between his legs, soaking wet. Claire reached down and rubbed his balls teasingly, only a second of contact, and he bucked, keening again. She gently smacked his dick and made him jump.

            “Such a good boy for me. You’re so honest.” It was time for the belt. As she brought it over and folded it, she asked, “Want to taste how wet I am, Matty?”

            “Please. Please please please…”

            She aimed and cracked the belt flat against his hole, and Matt screamed. Claire hummed with mock disapproval.

            “I need to get you to stay quiet.”

            This was the wrong thing to say: Matt shifted and hid his face. “Sorry, Claire, I’m sorry…”

            “Shhhh. No apologies here, Matty. You’re safe.” She snapped the belt hard and fast against his ass to make him squeak, then she did it again, and again. “You’re so beautiful,” and she meant every syllable.

            “Thank you, Claire,” he whimpered.

            She slid out of her panties and knelt by his face. “Open.”

            He opened his mouth. She balled up her worn panties and crammed them in, gagging him with them. He made a surprised, muffled hum, eyes opening wide; when he realized what she had done, he let out a long, low moan, eyes closing again and legs spreading even further. His dick twitched.

            “Can you come just like this, baby boy?" 

            “Mm-hmm.”

            She kissed his shoulder. “How about if I eat you out for being so sweet?”

            “Mm!” He rocked his hips backwards, brows furrowing. Matt made a questioning noise right after, and she shushed him.

            “Yes, you deserve it.” She walked back to grab a condom and to rummage in his drawer for scissors. As she cut it open to make a dental dam, she watched as he shifted on the towel, thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself up. How the hell was he keeping himself like that, even when he was in pain?

            For her. He was doing that for her. Claire’s heart jumped; she knew he heard it by the way he opened his eyes right after it happened. _Poor thing._  

            She took the lube and drizzled some over his hole, letting the cool sensation wash over him and tease him that much more. By the time she pressed the dam to him and kissed one of the bruises affectionately, he was humming with pleasure against his makeshift gag. 

            “Snap your fingers if you want to stop,” and then she licked a broad stripe over his hole and started eating him out: fast and sloppy, interspersing little flicks of her tongue with languid sucks and licks to his perineum and rim. Matt let out a shaky, keening whine and tried pressing his ass harder against her, but she held him back, spreading him open so she had more access.

            Claire sighed against the dam. “Good boy,” she breathed, low enough so he could feel the rumbles against where he needed it most.

            Matt keened again and spilled against the towel, hips thrusting in minute increments. Claire resisted the urge to watch and instead kept working her mouth against him, prolonging the pleasure for as long as she could.

            After what felt like several minutes ticked by, he snapped his fingers. She withdrew and bit his ass playfully, and he let out a soft, happy "Hm." There was a _lot_ of come on the towel; she filed away “likes to be eaten out” in her mental bank of “things Matt liked,” right next to “’watching’ her masturbate” and “chasing her through the city.”

            Claire crawled forward and removed the gag. “You want to fuck me, Matty?” she cooed. “Huh, baby?”

            “Yes, please, Claire.” He sounded ruined. She replaced her panties in his mouth and patted his butt. 

            “Go get a condom and come get me, then.”

            He rose to his feet, shaking. After a few wandering steps, Claire realized he was completely disoriented and guided him, with one hand, to the kitchen table. When he finally withdrew another condom from the box and unwrapped it, she squeezed his arm and let him go.

            “Follow my voice.” She backed towards the couch, beckoning with one finger. She couldn’t stop smiling. “Come on. Come get me, big boy.”

            Matt huffed around the gag, cock now sheathed in the condom, and took a step towards where she sat on the couch, legs spread, feet against the floor.

            “Uh-uh. On your hands and knees.” 

            He took a sharp intake of breath and dropped to his knees with a loud _thud_. As smooth as a panther, he stalked across the room, all fluid lines, staring, dazed, at a point somewhere past her head. Claire made a low moan and reached down to rub her clit. She shifted so she was lying parallel to the couch. 

            “Good boy. That’s my good boy. So beautiful, Matty.” 

            He pulled his upper body up on top of her and rubbed his erection against her cunt, making a soft, frustrated noise around the gag when he missed his mark. She nuzzled his cheek and positioned, and with some pain on her end, he thrust forward and buried himself in her.

            Matt clung to her while they moved together, as if he wanted to melt right into her body and her skin happened to be in the way. Claire made more noise than she normally did, putting on a show for him, little breathy moans of Good _boy, Matty, I love your cock, you’re so good for me, so pretty and thick,_ and God, she could _smell_ how into it she was with her used panties this close to her face, Matt panting around them near her cheek. She dug her nails into the meat of his ass and he just took it, continued thrusting into her with a mindless urgency while she rubbed her clit, hand trapped between their stomachs, cooing in his ear. 

            Claire came before he did and in the heat of it she noticed he was _crying_ , tears tracking silently down his face as he rocked into her and came again several thrusts later.

            He slumped against her, sobbing in earnest. She rubbed his back and let him cling to her, removing the gag while they held each other so he could speak.

            “Thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you, Claire. I-I’m your good boy--”

            The used panties fell to the floor. “You are, Matty.” She sighed and kissed his neck, over and over, letting him fall apart while he softened inside her. “You’re my good boy and…”

            _I love you._

Matt gasped against the arm of the couch. “I want to be good. Always, for you. I… _Claire_.”

            “Shhh. Let it out. When you’re ready, I’ll get your blanket.” Was that her nurse voice? She wanted to kick herself. _Not the time or place, girl._

            When Matt’s crying dissolved into sniffles and he slid out of her, Claire rolled off the condom for him and moved out from under him. He collapsed onto the cushions while she threw it away.

            On the bottom of the wardrobe, on top of a thick leather trunk, was a navy blue weighted blanket. She unfurled it and lugged it back to the couch. “Come on. Up. Let’s cuddle together.”

            Matt sat up, eyes red from crying. Claire curled up in his lap and wrapped the blanket around the two of them, folding them up in a warm cocoon.

            “Thank you,” he said again.

            “Always. No need to thank me.”

            “No, but I…” His head hit the couch cushions and he swallowed heavily. “For…for that. All of that. Thanks, Claire.” Matt hesitated. “Was that good?”

            “I should be asking you that question,” she murmured with a smile, rubbing her nose against his neck.

            “I want to do that again,” he blurted.

            “Hey! That’s great!” Claire looked up at him. He was turned away from her, but the corner of his mouth showed he was smiling, albeit rather shyly. She rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “We can do this as much as you want.”

            “Careful,” he teased. “I might want to do this every night.”

            She let her head fall back against his neck. “Mm. If I didn’t have work, I wouldn’t mind that.”

            After a silence, she said, “Why ‘Matty?’”

            Matt cleared his throat. “Oh. This’ll sound weird.”

            “I had my face in your ass. I think we’re past ‘weird.’”

            He chucked and adjusted the blanket so he was holding her more securely. “My dad used to call me ‘Matty.’ Foggy calls me that, sometimes. It makes me feel safe, in a weird way.”

            “Not weird.” She grinned. “It’s really cute. Just in the bedroom, then?" 

            His voice was tight when he responded. “Well, um. You can call me that anytime, if you don’t mind.” Matt trailed off.

            “Matty.”

            He curled up tighter on her. “Yeah?”

            “Just trying it out. Matty.”

            Matt sighed, gentle and soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Future Love" by Lady Gaga.
> 
> Questions, comments, concerns? [Tumblr](http://ultrons-blunt-roller.tumblr.com)!
> 
> My Sweet Disposition tag is [here](http://ultrons-blunt-roller.tumblr.com/tagged/sweet+disposition)!


	10. forget what i need, give me what i want, and it should be fine

            Claire tried to work around the sinking disappointment she felt when she got to work and, for the fifth day in a row, didn’t see Foggy or a gift from Matt. After their last session, he had gone completely silent, but given that the frequency and intensity of injuries in the ER didn’t change, he was probably in a fine mood. She resisted the urge to text him over her 2 AM snack break. He would come to her when he was ready.

            Or would he? Claire rested her mouth on the heel of her hand, watched Keeara and Esther work together to help an old man into a wheelchair across the hall. Matt had a habit of not telling her when he was nursing broken ribs and not just a few bruises like he claimed.

            _He’s just busy with Christine._ Claire picked at the pecans in her salad. _Just busy._

* * *

            As she slid into bed, a thought struck her.

            “Matt,” she said aloud, as if he were next to her in bed and not (probably) blocks away, “I miss you. Don’t be shy.”

            In the middle of the night, she woke up to cool lips pressed to her temple. When she sat up to look around, the room (and her bed) was empty. She couldn’t keep herself from smiling.

            That morning, fresh bagels greeted her from her coffee table.

            _Busy_ , said the shaky handwriting on the accompanying sticky note. _Miss u too._ _Casellula, 9 PM Friday. –M_

* * *

            He stood ramrod straight a few feet from Casellula’s door, cane held close to his body in white-knuckled fists. Matt could go alarmingly still when he needed to: face forward, barely breathing, easily attracting curious and frightened stares from passerby.

            Matt tilted his head in Claire’s direction as she approached.

            “You look cute,” she said, and his grip on the cane loosened.

            “You do, too,” he replied with a crooked smile, “I’m sure.”

            She smacked his hand with a giggle.  He leaned away, the smile becoming something warmer and quieter, more secret, just for her.

            “The wait is half an hour.” Matt furrowed his brows and turned to face her. “Is that okay? We’d have to sit at the bar, and I don’t know if you--”

            “Shhhh.” She linked her arm with his. “Let’s catch up, _boyfriend_.”

            Matt turned his face to the ground, nose scrunching playfully as he leaned against her.

            “Christine has some idea of who did it,” he began, “Foggy and I haven’t really been sleeping. Neither has Karen.”

* * *

            Between sips of wine and bites of smelly cheese (of which Matt is particularly fond; Claire can’t understand why), they pieced each other’s lives together: Christine’s case, a few other open-and-shut court dates Nelson and Murdock picked up to help out around town (and, Matt said proudly as he returned from the back with a receipt in hand, pay off date nights).The fallout from Fisk still rocked Hell’s Kitchen and brought petty crime with it. Karen desperately wanted to meet Claire. Foggy had the bright idea to bring all of them, along with Christine and Jim, to the zoo when this was all over. 

            Claire looked down to where she idly played with Matt’s fingers against the bar top. In the low light, his glasses looked black. “How do you keep your head on straight,” she asked, “when you’re dealing with cases like this?”

            Matt laced his fingers with hers. “The same way you keep yours when someone’s bleeding out in front of you. You just want them to be okay. You get through all the shit. It’s what you do.”

            Claire scooted closer to him on her barstool, nudged his calf with her sandaled foot.

* * *

 

            Matt left to hail them a taxi, and the bartender leaned over with a conspiratorial grin on his face. 

            “You’re really nice to go out with him.” 

            Claire’s head snapped up from her cellphone. “What?”

            “I mean.” He shrugged, one fluid motion, and stared into the glass he was cleaning. “I’d feel bad for him, too, but I bet he gets around with the ‘blind’ thing.”

            Her stomach twisted into a knot of anger. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s my boyfriend.” 

            “I’m just saying.” The bartender— _asshole_ — _total dick_ \-- heard someone shout from the other end of the bar and stalked away. “Don’t feel obligated.”

            Claire stood in anger, but before she could do anything, someone cleared their throat behind her. “Ready?” Matt said quietly, and the white-knuckled grip on his cane was back.

* * *

            She barely had the door locked when Matt pressed his body up against her back, nosing at her hair.

            “I don’t feel obligated,” she said quietly, “If that’s what you’re wondering.”

            “No,” he murmured, though the brush of his fingertips on her waist was hesitant. “I know that.”

            She leaned back into him and wrapped his arms around her waist, held them there. “Dude was a prick. Beat him up later.”

            “Claire,” he teased, delight seeping into his voice like milk through coffee, “Are you encouraging vigilante activity?”

            She twisted in his grip and scattered kisses across the pulse in his neck. “Only when the mood strikes.”

            Matt held her tighter. “Is the mood striking?”

            She trailed her kisses up his neck, over the curve of his jawline, across his stubbled cheeks. He leaned into her, glasses pressing against her forehead, a soft sigh ghosting against her mouth.

            “Yeah,” she whispered. “I think it is.”

            Claire reached up and slid his glasses off his nose. Matt blinked hard a few times. Dark circles rung his eyes. She leaned away.

            “Matt,” she said, low and warning. “You wanna stop? You look—“

            “I’m fine,” he replied quietly.

            Claire grimaced. She had to be taking advantage of him if she continued when his eyes were so bloodshot. And the “obligated” comment…

            “Come on,” she whispered. She rubbed her thumb across his cheek. “You don’t have to lie.”

            He took his glasses out of her hand, set them down on the side table next to where she kept her keys. “We’ll go slow. How’s that?”

            Claire huffed out a breath. _Stubborn._ “Fine. But if you feel like you’re gonna fall asleep, you tell me. We have all the time in the world,” she added as she pressed up against him, felt the hard lines of his chest against her stomach and breasts. That wrung a shy smile out of him. “We don’t have to rush.”

            “All the time?” Matt said, hopeful, and that was it, Claire thought as she nodded, he would always be hopeful, he would always need a little extra push, and this is what she had signed up for, was really “obligated” to do. Being close to Matt Murdock meant reassurance that you were still there, that you would always be there. She couldn’t even begin to analyze the way he always kissed like she was porcelain, even in the throes of a scene, and especially not now, when his hands lured her in and kept her there, like she could back away at any time and he would just _let_ her go.

            Matt sucked eagerly at her neck, and she threw her head back. “Bed,” she whispered and gently rapped his shoulder. “Bed.”

            She grabbed his hand, and he let her lead him though he knew the way by heart by now, stumbling along behind her, grinning ear to ear like he couldn’t believe his luck. For the illusion of privacy, she closed the door behind her. When she turned, he was seated on the bed, wringing his hands and swallowing.

            “Do you want to.” He swallowed. “Be, um. What role do you want?”

            “Why don’t we just do vanilla this time?” she said gently, placing her palms flat on his thighs. He yanked her close and buried his face in her chest. “We can save the fun stuff for _after_ you sleep.”

            Matt snorted into her shirt. “Doctor’s orders?”

            Claire sighed as he moved to suck a nipple through her shirt. “ _Yes_.”

            His mouth popped off her breast just long enough to say, “Yes, keep going, or yes, doctor’s orders?”

            She ruffled his hair affectionately as he continued his work. “Yes to both.”

            Claire pushed him back so she could crawl onto the bed. He waited until she was settled on her back, then crept up to meet her, a glint in his eyes.

            She cradled his face in her hands and met him halfway for a kiss as he pressed his full weight against her, grinding gently. Claire bucked her hips to meet him.

            “Someone’s excited,” she murmured as he inched her shirt off. She sat up just long enough to help him.

            “I could say the same for you,” he replied, dreamy and breathless, scattering kisses along the waistline of her jeans. Despite the insistent little pushes of her hips, he took his sweet time unbuttoning her pants and zipping down the fly.

            “At least take me out to dinner first,” she joked halfheartedly while they tugged her jeans off together. 

            “I just did,” he laughed.

            “So this is me paying you back?”

            Matt hesitated, thumbs still pushed under the waistband of her panties. The color washed out of his face. Claire’s smile fell.

            “Matt?”

            “You don’t have to pay me back, Claire,” he said. He lifted his chin. “Is this what you think it is?”

            “Shit. Matt, no.” She reached down and scratched his head. His eyelids fluttered shut, and he leaned his cheek against her lower stomach. “Sorry. That wasn’t funny. I didn’t mean it.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Do you still want to do this?” 

            “Mm.” Matt lifted his head and mouthed at her through her panties.

            “Matty." 

            He groaned and pressed harder, eliciting a gasp from her. “Matty,” she breathed, and he tugged her panties off and rubbed his thumb on her clit, panting. “Matty,” and he pressed his face against her and sucked as hard as he could, lapping at her wetness as she writhed above him.

            “D-don’t ever…” She gasped, then continued. “Don’t ever think…I’m just…here to make you feel better.”

            He groaned and slipped a finger inside her, crooking it just so. Claire squeezed her eyes shut and let her mouth fall open.

            “Matt,” she ground out, “I really… _mmh_ …really like you.” She added: “I think I love you.”

            Matt _growled_ at that and increased his pace, eyebrows turning upward in the middle in a small benediction, a tiny pathetic thankfulness, and Claire said it again: “I love you.”

            “Mmh lff yu tmmf.”

            “Yeah? You—you? You l-l—fuck!” Claire bit her lip as Matt drove his fingers harder into her and combined it with a languid, slow lick up her sex. One thrust, two, three, and she was coming against his face in silence.

            When she slumped against the bed, Matt kissed her thigh and dragged his fingers out of her. He paused to lick them with more nonchalance than Claire knew he had. 

            “I wasn’t just saying that,” Claire breathed. “I’ll say it every day for you.”

            Matt’s entire face scrunched up in pain, a nervous smile threatening to break out across his mouth. “No. You don’t mean that.” He slid off the bed.

            Claire hefted herself up into a sitting position and grabbed for his arm. “Come on. I’ll show you. Come on.”

            But Matt drew away and stood in the middle of her room like he was a stranger there.

            “Matt,” she said softly, “Matt. Come on. I do. You have to trust me.”

            “I want to,” he replied, just as soft, facing the floor.

            "I'm being honest."

            "I know."

            “Is it easier when we’re playing around?” Claire asked. She turned and placed her feet on the floor. When Matt didn’t respond and begun to straighten his tie instead, she pressed: “You’re afraid?”

            Matt shrugged. “It’s a long story.”

            “I’ve got time.”

            He pursed his lips.

            She slid off the bed and padded over to him. He stood still, eerily still, head tilted as he listened to her move, like he was assessing an enemy.

            “Matt,” she said.

            “Mm?”

            She wrapped her arms around him, pressed up against his back and rested there. “I meant it. I think I love you, you weird bastard." 

            Matt breathed out a laugh at that. “I…um. Wow.” 

            “Want me to say it again?”

            His head tilted back, and he sighed. “Yeah.”

            “I think I love you. Again?”

            “Yes.” 

            “I think I love you. I _do_ love you.”

            “I…”

            “Come on."

            “I love you.”

            “I love you too.”

            “I love you,” Matt sighed.

            “I love you too.”

            “I love you.”

            “I love you too.”

            “We have time.” He said this with wonder in his voice. “Jesus. We have time.”

            Claire pressed her face to his shirt, breathed him in, listened to his heart beating rabbit-quick through the fabric. “We have time.”

* * *

            “Heads or tails?”

            “Tails.”

            The coin flipped in the air. Claire smacked it against her palm and leaned over to look at it. 

            “Heads,” she crowed. Matt rolled his eyes and grinned.

            “That’s the third time this week.”

            “Fair’s fair. On your knees, Matty.”

            “Can I…? Uh."

            “Use your words.”

            “Oh, right, _sorry._  Puh- _lease_ may I be fucked by you again, oh great one?”

            “So polite. Red or blue one?”

            “The blue one. Feels better." 

            “That one’s bigger.”

            “I know.”

            “You’re a big slut.”

            “I should put that on my resume.” Matt tilted his head and listened to Claire rummage in the bedside drawer. He looked absolutely tranquil. “Matthew Murdock, Attorney at Law. Big slut. List you as my reference.”

            Claire returned with the rope and kissed his head. “I’m not into it, but if you’re into it…”

            Matt giggled and tilted his head up for a kiss. “It’s not the _strangest_ thing to happen this week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry this was late, and SO sorry to snipe you guys with the last chapter when I finally DID update!
> 
> Thank you SO much to everyone who read this! I wanted to write fast and loose, something really good for Clairedevil, and I'm super happy it brought people some joy!! I had a lot of fun.
> 
> Chapter title from "Prime" by Allie X. Story title from "Sweet Disposition" by The Temper Trap.
> 
> Questions, comments, concerns? [Tumblr](http://ultrons-blunt-roller.tumblr.com)!


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